


All things must die (except you and I)

by Fiorelily



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hades and Persephone AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nothing comes of it, Phichit and Yuuri but only because Phichit is an incorrigible flirt, Reiya/Kazliin is a god, Slow Burn, UMFB fanfic, Until Makkachin comes along, Vicchan is the cutest monster in the park, ish, rivals au, terribly inadvisable sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-13 19:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorelily/pseuds/Fiorelily
Summary: Yuuri is used to being the creepy God of Death in the corner that no one dares talk to. He's the harbinger to end all things and the world's sorrow lands on his doorstep with every new shade. When the God of Spring, with his shining smile and silver-minted hair, tramples on the God of Death's moment, the Unseen one's wrath is terrible.  Even worse is when Viktor creates an eternal spring of life to fly in the face of Yuuri's entire purpose.With some encouragement from his friendly love god, he takes matters into his own hands and steals away the God of Spring, locking him away in the underworld. The upperworld is thrown into chaos as the land is cursed to an eternal winter. As the two are locked in a battle of wills, emotions and opinions start to give, and they realize they might not be so different as they once thought. However, the world cries out for balance, life and death are two sides to a single coin. One cannot exist without the other. But is it truly love? For how can love thrive when it's not given freely?





	1. On which our play opens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748484) by [Reiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya/pseuds/Reiya). 



> I bow humbly at the feet of the wonderful Reiya's and her superbly-written Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches. I sincerely doubt you have missed reading it, but if you have STOP RIGHT NOW AND GO READ IT.  
> Here's the link to her original work:
> 
>  
> 
> [UMFBAMHA](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8748484/chapters/20055247)
> 
>  
> 
> And here's her top 10 Viktuuri fanfic list in the Rivals AU.
> 
>  
> 
> [Kaziliin's original idea](http://kazliin.tumblr.com/post/158641271657/top-10-fanfic-title-and-summaries)
> 
>  
> 
> I fell in love with #8 and have Kazliin's blessing, and so here's the start to my Hades and Persephone AU set in the Rivals AU. Oh what fun this will be!

As it often is, the harsh spring gales stripped thoughts bare as it ripped through the low, wide valley on the road to Delphi. In the last light of the evening, a small group of young travelers, students all, not more than six in number huddled around a guttering fire. Threaded over the wind, harmonious wolf howls made them tremble in their sandals. A windburnt young man in the group, his umber beard just starting to come in, Admetos, knelt to stoke the fire and embers flew directly back into his face because he wasn’t particularly bright for standing leeward of the flames. Hastily he smacked his beard to extinguish the hot spots as the rest of the group howled and slapped their knees at his misfortune. And, when he revealed the shiny red patches burned away in his still-growing beard, they fell over themselves in their merriment. At least laughing kept their mind off other pressing matters, like hungry wolves falling on a small band of students caught on their pilgrimage to the Oracle as night fell.

 

Such was their laughter that they didn’t even hear stranger approach their fire until he suddenly counted among their numbers. Ashen-haired Pheres, only just older than Admetos, drew their only weapon, a stubby bronze knife and shakily brandished it at the cloaked stranger who simply chuckled at the frightened band of travelers.

 

“I see wind and wolves has stolen the spleens from you. Where is the brave-hearted youth today that they cower around the only bright light in this valley?” The man, face lined with age and watery black eyes, held up his empty hands as he settled creakily down on the ground near the flames. “Or do you threaten every passing traveler who joins your fire?”

 

Pheres glanced ‘round to his fellow students and, with nodded approval, sheathed the weapon and they all joined the strange man on the ground. “And how are we to know if you mean us harm or wish us well? For all we know, you could be a monstrous creature meaning to devour us in our sleep or one of the gods come to test us,” he said.

 

The stranger sucked teeth, letting his head fall back, the cloak hood falling away to reveal caramel-colored skin, before considering his answer. “True, true, I could be any of those things,” he nodded as he opened a sack tied to his belt, “But should you turn me away, then you would miss the opportunity to hear of such a story that will simultaneously stop your blood and make your heart sing with joy.” He pulled a small scroll from his sack.

 

Consequences of sharing their fire with a stranger were forgotten as the students gaped at the scroll, for were they ever to even see one outside their Library at Pergamon, their punishment would have been swift and severe, for costly papyrus, ink, and the knowledge they contained are jealously guarded by their scholars. As he opened the scroll they all jostled to get a glimpse of the precious document.

 

“‘Between Hades and Persephone, all things must die except you and I.’ What kind of title is that?” Admetos questioned and Pheres smacked him in the shoulder with an admonishing look.

 

It seemed as if the old man’s eyes quickened momentarily, and the air seemed to still around them. All attention was drawn to those eyes, Pheres could swear he saw kohl lining them and, if for a moment it seemed like they held secrets innumerable, you would not be incorrect. A beatific expression spread on the old man’s face, rotten gaps marred what should have been a beautiful smile, as he settled his gaze back onto the scroll. “The kind that tells young students to sit down and listen to the greatest untold tale of the gods lest they be eaten by monsters… Or wolves.” Then the wind returned with a vengeance, pushing and tearing through bows of the cypress they sat under, startling the shaken students.

 

“But we have already studied Persephone’s capture by Hades, and how her mother Demeter curses the land when she is living in the underworld, which is why winter is the harshest of the seasons. Every first year knows that story,” whined Admetos.

 

“Oh ho. You must pray at Athena’s temple, so wise you are to know _all_ the stories of the gods. Think you that the gods wouldn’t have events they wish to keep to themselves? And yet here I sit with a story outside your worldview and you scorn it because you think you know everything there is about they who govern the natural world.” The gaze the old man wore was not a kind one. He stared at Admetos until the youth visibly gulped and sat down like a dog chastised by its owner.

 

“Now, isn’t that better,” he said with a cheeky wink, “Keep your wits about you, your eyes clear, and your hearts open and who knows what will happen when I’m finished telling this tale.” And with that, the old man began to speak.

* * *

 

 

Yet another golden invitation sailed in on a faint rainbow-

“ _Why a rainbow,” Admetos interrupted_.

 _“Because Iris is the messenger of the gods and_ _he likes rainbows_ ,” _said_ _the old man._

_“He!? But Iris is a goddess, right?”_

_The old man sucked his teeth. “Again with the speaking when you should be with the listening. Now where was I….”_

 

Yet another golden invitation sailed in on a faint rainbow and settled on the God of the Underworld’s dining table. He eyed it in dismay as visions of past banquets haunted his memory. It wasn’t easy being the god of gloom and doom and for all the effort he put into creating new feats each banquet, the pantheon always ended up creeped out by his feats; how was he to know that a tour of Tartarus and the rock where Prometheus had his liver eaten out daily wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, much less a feat to benefit humanity. Which is how last banquet he’d ended up drinking alone in a corner as his siblings soaked in all the glory, as per fucking usual.

_“Does the scroll really say-” Admetos, again._

_The old man sighed heavily. “YES, it does say_ as per fucking usual _, okay? I’m the one telling the story!”_

 

He’d hoped that by ignoring the numerous invitations, the looming banquet would magically be rescheduled for the next century, like a skip-year. But, even as he reached to toss the damned thing into an endless pit of nothingness, his red-haired Psychopomp of a ferrywoman burst in unannounced with a determined glare set in her eyes. “This really has to stop Yuuri-“

_“Wait, who is Yuuri? I thought this was a story about Hades,” another boy this time speaks up._

_The old man rolled his eyes and wiped at his face tiredly. “What, you think the gods go by one and only one name? Zeus alone has more epithets than I can keep up with. Eros, the god of love and sexual attraction, also goes by Cupid, as one easy example, or did they not teach that in your studies?” He received blank stares from the group._

_He heaved another sigh and made a strange motion over his heart. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you lads a cheater version and include the “common” name at first. But only on the first reference, so get your heads on straight or I’m turning this story right around and going home.”_

_The boys all bobbed their heads in agreement._

“This really has to stop Yuuri _(Hades, stage-whispered the old man)._ Even I’m getting bombarded with invitations on your behalf because you refuse to answer them. I’m not your mailman- er- mailwoman-god-des WHATEVER. Answer your damn invitations!” Mila _(Charon)_ gave Yuuri her most charming smile and turned right on her heels and stormed back to her dinghy of death.

 

Yuuri pinched his brow and fought to contain a sigh as he picked up the gleaming invitation. “Banquet of the gods to celebrate another successful century,” he said with a pronounced eyeroll, “Hmpf, more like let’s all drink ourselves silly on Christophe’s _(Dionysis)_ wine while we stroke our egos and pretend what we’re doing is oh-so-great for humans.”

 

He bit his lower lip, the skin gloaming pearly in the low shade-lights of his chamber. He was weary just thinking about coming together for yet another self-congratulatory, pompous affair where, yet again, he would be the odd god out.

 

His siblings nearly always stole the show anyways, so why did he need to even show up at this stupid banquet? He didn’t have a feat to show for the last century anyways. It’s not like the dead changed much from, oh, being dead. Practically the only thing that changed in the realm of the Unseen was Yuuri’s growing collection of books and scrolls. He could build literal mountains of books, forests of books, palaces of books if he wanted, but that would be a waste of perfectly good books. No, he’d skip the banquet and sod off to anyone who blamed him for wanting to just sit at home reading.

 

Besides, hardly anyone prayed at his temples anymore, but he still had the dubious honor of herding the shades that had shuffled off the mortal coil. And _stars_ were shades boring. No memories, no personalities, just a shade of a former human that moaned about his realm wondering what time it was and whether there was anything to do other than wait out eternity together staring into endless pits of nothingness. Spoiler alert, there isn’t.

_Admetos raised his hand. “What’s a spoiler?”_

_A quick glare from the old man and he fizzled._

Satisfied in his decision, he plucked a new tome off the shelf titled “Theogony” by a clever fellow named Hesiod. One of the Great and Powerful Phichit’s _(Eros)-_

_“The Great and Powerful Eros? If anything he’s too silly and too fancy to do anything other than fly around shooting dumb love arrows!” mocked Pheres._

_The young men started as a low growl issued from the old man and the air took on a tightness._

_Pheres backtracked. “B-but, then again the power of love DOES conquer all!” And with that the old man’s smile slid back on._

-One of Phichit’s lovers had insisted he take the book after a particularly heated two-week romp in the hay saying he would enjoy reading about his family. Luckily for Yuuri, Phichit would rather sex others up than sit down and read a book. So the last time he came to the underworld – and Yuuri still has no idea why Phichit visits his dank and creepy realm – Phichit presented the book with a wink and a flourishing bow that made his already terribly short robes hike up to even more scandalous territory. Yuuri was sure he could see from here all the way to Lesbos behind the hem of Phichit’s robes.

 

He’d opened to the section about the Unseen realm and Hades – afterall, it’s just as well to read what humans thought of him now – when Mila strode in with the latest gaggle of shades, her staff of yew implacable as she tried to keep them from wandering off, as they are wont to do.

 

A shade mumbled, halfway to itself, “Pardon me, but do you know what time it is? I feel like I have somewhere important to be.” Mila rolled her eyes and shook her head at the shade.

 

Palming the last of the ferry fees, the obol coins clinking sharply in her hip pouch, Mila gazed through the shade, their form fuzzily insubstantial with a blue translucence, to fix Yuuri with an incredulous look. “I can’t believe you! I leave for one ferry ride and you’re already settling in, getting cozy with a book, and _not responding to the invitation_ ,” Looking through the shade – even if they don’t react – still made her skin crawl, so she pointedly stepping around the shade and she glared at the lounging god of death. “You realize three more were delivered to me midway across the Acheron?” She thrust the glowing golden invitations toward Yuuri who threw up his hands in defense.

 

While Mila was preoccupied, one of the shades drifted over to Yuuri and pulled at his robes, their latent emotion seeped into the fabric, coloring it a melancholy purple bursting with flashes of raging red. He jumped at the contact and his heartrate skyrocketed, feeling all the emotions the shade felt in their final moment of life.

_“Wait, so he just absorbed their emotions? But aren’t there thousands of dead people in the underworld, wouldn’t it be overwhelming?” asked Admetos._

_The old man sighed sadly. “Yes, yes I suppose it is overwhelming. But it is one of the reasons they are gods are you are humans, to be able to take on that which is unbearable.”_

 

He was plunged into a sadness so deep he felt the colors of the walls assault him. He tried to curl inward, but his robes suddenly felt cloying and claustrophobic, the fabric too rough and too silken all at the same time. The air was thick and metallic on his tongue, its smell musty and promised a sharp, swift death. It was like all of his senses had been turned up. And Yuuri desperately wanted – no needed – to hide away from the fresh shades, their raw state scraping at his eyelids.

 

The shade clung to Yuuri’s arm regardless of the distress it caused. “Is there anything to do here? I don’t know what to do,” they moaned. Yuuri sagged under the weight of their collective emotions. Fresh shades always reeked of regret and desperation, clawing to the last strands of their former lives before it all slipped away. And Yuuri, aware of how it feels to leave the upperworld, bursting with life and joy, bore their emotions as a weighty mantle befitting the station of Lord of the Underworld, even if it left him gasping under the pressure.

 

“Whoa! Hey there! Hands off Yuuri!” Mila stomped in and anchored her staff under the shade’s grasp to pry it off Yuuri’s arm with an embarrassed look. She shooed him back into the pack of shades ready to make their way into the depths. She banged her staff on the ground in an attempt to capture their _limited_ attention “OKAY YOU FRESH SHADES, LISTEN UP. I know he’s pretty and all, but the rules here are simple. One,” she started to tick off fingers, “no returning to the upperworld; two, no falling into pits of nothingness; though if you want to try it, be my guest; three, no eating any of the food.” She stopped and sent a piercing glare at the shades. “AND FINALLY, FOUR, NO TOUCHING YUURI! Anyone found in violation of these rules will be sent straight to Tartarus, no exceptions, capisce?”

 

For a moment, Yuuri thought she was impressive, channeling her inner drill sergeant. However, the shades simply stared at her, expressionless, and turned to go about doing whatever shades do in the underworld.

 

Shaking from the contact, Yuuri sank down into his reading chair and started taking in large steadying gulps of air and tried to calm his racing heart. He wondered, not for the first time, whether gods themselves can die from work-related injuries. Because whenever a newly-minted shade would assault him he was certain it shaved off years from him.

 

Mila, for her part, looked abashed. She nervously shuffle-danced with her staff, studiously not noticing Yuuri’s little freak-out session, until Yuuri seemed to compose himself. Yuuri hated it when others saw him vulnerable and so she and Yuuri have an agreement: she ignored any anxiety attacks and he allowed himself to marginally relax around her.

 

“I’m so sorry Yuuri,” she said, “That shouldn’t have happened; not on my watch.” When Yuuri didn’t respond, she glanced at him. He looked still and calm as an underground lake, only the light flush on his refined cheeks and the light puff of breath through dewy, ethereal lips revealed him to have a living, moving spirit. The sight of him stole her breath away and twice she had to remind herself that a god as powerful as Yuuri was strictly off-limits to a lowborn Psychopomp like her. She stole to his side, kneeled and gently took his hand in hers. He started at the touch, and pulled his hand away immediately, but he held his hands close to his chest as if he was warming them. 

 

Mila gazed sadly at her hand, trying to divine what she lacked to help the God of Death, clenched it tightly and chuckled low to herself. Then with a shake of her head, she cheerful declared, “You’re right, who needs to go to a stinking banquet anyways? They can survive without your sparkling personality and beautiful face to gaze longingly upon.” Yuuri gave a dry derisive laugh at her comment.

 

Mila continued, “I hear Viktor _(Persephone)_ will be the highlight of the feats this banquet anyway, he’s been preparing for them for a long time. Phichit says ‘10/10 would recommend,’ whatever that means.”

 

Yuuri sighed into his chest and nodded as he left the last bit of her warmth ebbed from his fingers. It always was so cold in the underworld. But, it wasn’t proper, a god borrowing energy from his Psychopomp, even to warm his hands.

_“If he’s always so cold, why doesn’t he use his powers to create fire in the underworld?” asked Admetos._

_“An intelligent question, finally!” said the old man. “Of which absolutely don’t know! By all rights, he possesses power to do so, but chooses not to. Or perhaps the realm itself doesn’t allow it. Well, only the gods know, I suppose,” he chuckled to himself._

 

“Plus,” Mila continued, “it’s not like anyone would miss the Lord of the Underworld not even showing up to greet the new gods and goddesses, right? I mean, it being their first banquet and all. And, well, I guess _my_ first banquet.” She sighed and tucked her head down, her fiery bangs shielding her expression.

 

Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck and blushed a pale periwinkle blue to match his deathly pale skin tone. “Wow, I completely forgot about the new additions to the pantheon.”

 

Mila leveled a death stare at Yuuri. “Seriously? How could you forget when most of them are Celestino’s _(Zeus)_ progeny. You know, the ones he trots down here as potential partners for you. Wait. Doesn’t that mean you’re their uncle or something like that? Ew,” Mila shudders at the thought. “Still, that’s no reason to miss their banquet debut; it’d be more scandalous than Chris’s last _party,_ and that was a full month of sex, wine, sex, food, sex, dancing, and more sex in that order. I had a rollicking time with these two satyrs where one did body shots-

_The old man rolled his eyes as Admetos’s hand shot in the air. “Ask your parents when you’re older kid, trust me, you’ll like it.”_

 

-body shots off me and the other did these things with his tongu-” The redhead trailed off when she saw Yuuri go through all the stages of embarrassment in three seconds flat. Yuuri’s blush deepened and reached the tips of his ears as he imagined a sea of limbs, dicks, asses, orifices, breasts and grapes being crushed in ways he couldn’t rightly imagine possible.

 

Chris had made it crystal clear that Yuuri was always welcome at his gatherings by attempting to stick his tongue down Yuuri’s throat nearly every banquet. A full-body shudder ran through Yuuri, he’d rather not experience that again. Best stick with his introverted tendencies where he was safe and insulated from worrisome things like emotions. Decision made, the tension he held in his shoulders flooded away and finally he felt like he could breathe again.

 

He made to tear the invitation in half, thereby declining to attend the banquet when Mila jumped to tear the invitation from his hands. “Wait! Just, just wait. There’s a reason why you need to go,” she hedged while she cast around for a way to convince him.

 

Surprised and a bit taken aback at her defiance, “Mila, give me my invitation back,” he said surly. Yuuri’s mouth formed an impatient pout, tapping his foot, hand held out waiting for her to return the golden invitation.

 

Vicchan _(Cerberus)_ chose that moment to wander into the room, one of his tiny fluffy poodle head yawning while one had a huge doggy smile and the other sniffed for scraps of food Yuuri might have left after breakfast. His diminutive body belied the great strength it contained, for should anyone attempt to assault the underworld, they were in for a nasty surprise. ‘Tiny, but fierce’ was the mantra Yuuri channeled while he created Vicchan, his cherished companion and guardian of the gates. Complete with a trio of dark, wet noses and full of doggy kisses, much to Yuuri’s delight.

 

Mila’s eyes went wide and a vulpine smile appeared. She’d identified her leverage as she slid over to Vicchan to give head 1 scruffs and head 3 a nose bop. “You know Yuuri,” she said in a sing-song voice, “you haven’t presented Vicchan to the pantheon yet.”

 

Shit, he’d forgotten about that entirely. All monstrous godly creatures must be formally presented to the rest of the gods for sanctioned use in a realm. Creating Vicchan had taken a lot out of Yuuri – the very act of creation clashed with his intrinsic powers to reap the souls of the living – during his recovery, he’d quite forgotten to get him registered with the rest of the gods.

 

Yuuri started to pace as he ran through scenario after scenario. Celestino might have Perseus smite him just for fun. Stheno might turn him to stone just to spite Yuuri when he refused to return her sister Medusa to the land of the living. Another monstrous creature might challenge Vicchan to mortal combat to prove its worth against the gods. If Yuuri didn’t go, Vicchan could be hurt – unlikely as that may be – or, he might lose Vicchan entirely. That thought alone stole Yuuri’s breath and made him break into a flop sweat. To lose the one good, pure life he had created, the one creature that accepted him wholly without any judgements. The pacing increased and he reflexively ran his hand through his unkempt, raven hair.

 

Mila continued wheedling him. “This is the perfect time to introduce Vicchan to the rest of the pantheon!” Yuuri slowed in his pacing to hear Mila’s argument. To which the Psychopomp picked Vicchan up and snuggled him into her bosom.

 

She continued, “He can even be your feat for this banquet! He guards the gates to the underworld so now there aren’t any humans who ‘whoops-I-wandered-into-the-underworld-and-died-by-taking-a-left-turn-instead-of-right, silly me’ become shades without properly dying. He’s a protector of humanity! Everyone will love him, I know they will!”

 

Yuuri had stopped pacing, giving Mila his full attention and she knew she had won. They were going to the banquet, come Tartarus or high water.

* * *

 

“And there is where we will stop for the night. I don’t know about you, but I’m an old man and I need as much sleep as possible,” he said.

 

The students groaned at the interruption. “But what about the banquet? And the presenting Vicchan. I want to hear about Chris’s sex party,” Admetos whined sleepily. A few, well most, of the boys nodded at that last statement, their heads bobbing from fatigue and lassitude.

 

The stranger gave them a kindly smile that one might see on a father as they looked over the faces of their sleeping children. “Such impatience, a good story takes time in the telling. And the end will be that much sweeter once we gain its summit. Come now, your eyes tire and soon you’ll be dreaming,” said the old man as the young students drifted to sleep with an unnatural quickness.


	2. Olympus bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our God of Death fights against rising anxiety and a never-ending parade of gods high upon Olympus. AKA not much happens, but we have Yuuri interacting with many from his family. And our protagonists meet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like all good intentions, I meant to enclose the banquet and start of the rivalry in one chapter. But it just got overly long. So I chopped it. Next chapter, RIVALRY START

 

When the students woke, the sun was just beginning to peek over the hillside, but had been up for an hour at least before hitting the small group nestled in the valley. They sat up, rubbing crusts of sleep and dreams from their eyes, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Pheres asserted they all dreamed the entire encounter and was backed up by the lack of any evidence he existed; no footprints, no scuffed ground to indicate a sleeping body. Being the most persuasive in the group – it helped that his father gave them the knife, a small tithe of coin, and rations of food for the long pilgrimage – he had everyone convinced that the wine had turned bad the day earlier and caused phantasms.

 

Just then Iokaste, who had taken to the nearby woods to break water, burst forth from the brush, pale as if Hades himself were right behind him, his sandals slapping the packed ground in his haste.

 

Pheres unsheathed their knife within a moment, readying for a fight with whatever assailed them. Iokaste collapsed just within the group, chest heaving and his dark hair plastered to his forehead. “What things that have scared you, Iokaste?” asked Pheres. “What manner of man or beast?”

 

The young men, with yearling beards and developing muscles and so many questions formed rank around their fellow man, checking for injury. Iokaste pointed a shaking hand to the woods. “Wolves, so many wolves,” the collective intake of breath could have extinguished a flame, but Iokase continued. “Dead, all of them. Affixed with a single arrow through the heart. Every single one of them.”

 

Pheres loosened a booming laugh. “Well then! Artemis be praised! The huntress divine keeps us from harm on our long pilgrimage.” At his declaration, most of the group erupted into cheers.

…All but Iokaste and Admetos who wore doubt openly on their sleeves. “The shafts were Cypress-made, and not of Artemis’s golden quiver,” declared Iokaste.

 

“And what of the stranger from the night before? He could have killed the wolves,” said Admetos.

 

But Pheres and the rest dismissed their fellow men and soon, camp broken, they were back on the road again. But, long is the road to Delphi and, with seemingly very little distance gained, the group is forced to shelter in a too-small cave just off the road.

 

Same as the evening before, the stranger seemed to appear from nowhere to be part of their small group around the fire. No warning footsteps to indicate he even approached them. Just, one moment he wasn’t there, and the next he was. But, no matter how people in the group tried to consider how he may have appeared beside their fire, their minds couldn’t concentrate on it rightly and their focus slid onto more comfortable subjects, like the next part of the story they were about to hear.

 

Admetos could hardly contain his excitement while the mistrust rolled off Pheres. This did not stop him from settling in to listen with the rest of them, though.

 

“Now let’s see, where did I leave off? Oh yes,” the old man chuckled darkly, “the ill-fated banquet where the world nearly ceased to exist. Oh this is good, my boys. You’ll like it.” The students leaned in, eager.

* * *

 

 

_“What do you mean the world nearly ceased to exist?” Pheres asked while he crossed his arms. “I exist, the land ‘neath our feet exists. You’re the only one I’m not sure exists, I could be dreaming right now,” he stated emphatically._

_Without hesitation the old man reached through the fire, the flames licking his arm and pinched Pheres’s ear, hard, to which Pheres winced and rubbed at the throbbing ear._

_“There, does a dream hurt like that? Now sit down and shut up before I hurt something more precious, like your heart,” said the old man, threat gleamed brightly in his eyes. And so Pheres sat down and shut up._

Mila made sure Yuuri was dressed to the nines in his best set of robes, ignoring Yuuri’s insistence that it didn’t matter – his siblings would find fault in him someway; she knew better which robes set off the color of his eyes. This particular garment was stained a velvety indigo with a large swath of gauzy taupe and scrollwork in reds and greens wrapped around his waist. The robe full to the brim with tumultuous conflicting emotions from a brush with the shade of a young suicide. Mila still thought the twinkling points dusting his shoulders, like a glittering star field, were Yuuri’s own emotional reaction to the contact. In any case, Mila practically would have stripped Yuuri right then and there had he not ripped the robe from her hand and stalked, blushing, into his bedroom to change. This is what Yuuri got for requesting a psychopomp with a will of her own.

 

Right up until they were ready to leave, Yuuri fussed around his residence, checked to make sure the shades were calm and steady – as if somehow Yuuri leaving would have made any impression on them beyond the blank, glazed looks they gave to everything in the Underworld. He tidied non-existent messes and straightened pin-straight columns of books. Mila stood by the door and tapped her foot, becoming more impatient as the time wore on. When Yuuri stooped again to peer through his reflecting pool to check on the state of the shades as they shuffled to their designated location – just one last time to make sure they would be okay without him – Mila snapped.

 

“Yuuri! Stop it! They’re dead. _Stars!_ Nothing’s going to happen to them-”

 

“But-” began Yuuri; Mila was not having any of it.

 

“Nope, you’re not squirming out of this. Sure, they were once living creatures, but guess what, they died. Nothing changes them, it’s not like they have emotions to inspire any action in them, they don’t care we’re leaving for a few days, they’re dead!” she threw her hands up in disgust. “And they’re going to stay dead no matter what happens, the dead don’t come back to life – and they don’t get any less dull – so if you look into your reflecting pool one more time I SWEAR I WILL…” she ranted.

 

“You’ll what?” Yuuri quirked his eyebrows, a smirk ghosted across his face. He was interested to see how far Mila was invested in following this line of conversation. She bordered on insubordination and he didn’t like her questioning his own council. However, at least he wasn’t bored when she was around, even if she made him want to tear his hair out at times.

 

Mila, for her part, turned as red as her hair. Tiny raven-like wings popped up from her back in aggravation. “SEE! Look at what you made me do! It’ll take me forever to calm them down,” As Yuuri laughed with an ease not often heard, she tried to pat her wings down, but they kept flying back into place, like a cute baby bird that can’t control its wings yet. She gave up after a moment of fussing. “Stop stalling and let’s go!”

 

She grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the door. With a quickness, Yuuri pulled his hand away. The easy-going atmosphere between them dropped and the momentary hurt that played across Mila’s face put Yuuri on guard. The walk to entrance to the Underworld was under an umbrella of stony silence.

 

The scent of musty decay pressed at their backs and gusts of stale wind billowed their robes forward, seeming to usher them along. To Yuuri it felt like his own realm was shoving him out the door and he wasn’t sure he liked that. Sure, he didn’t choose to lord over this realm, but it’s under his charge regardless. It could show a little gratitude for fucks sake. Without him, there would be no order to the shades, no Vicchan to guard its borders, no Tartarus to punish those with evil in their hearts. This realm needed him, dammit! Yuuri threw a scathing look over his shoulder back down the path and he swore he heard a deep burbling rumble, as if the realm was laughing at him. Great, now even his own realm didn’t take him seriously. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, forgetting it was already pulled back for the banquet.

 

Blue shade lights illuminated their path until just before the gates. Vicchan ran to greet Yuuri and Mila with a trio of excited doggy yips. As Vicchan circled Mila’s legs playfully, the psychopomp giggled. Yuuri was glad to see Mila smiling again and his shoulders relaxed – he didn’t even know he had tensed up. Yuuri realized he was being overly anxious about the banquet, but he didn’t mean to take it out on his friends.

 

Vicchan loaded into a carrier of Yuuri’s specifications made by Sueng-Gil _(Hephaestus)_ to contain Vicchan outside the Realm of the Unseen. A Vicchan let loose unshielded on the Upperworld would be nothing short of catastrophic. Yuuri created him to resist most supernatural glamours, persuasions and poisons, as well as able to throw around major elemental spell work as easily as fetching the paper in the morning. The few humans who made the mistake of contact with Vicchan lived to tell the tale, but their hair never grew straight again, or with any color, _Stars_ sometimes they lost every single strand of hair– something Yuuri didn’t quite understand since he didn’t think he added that to Vicchan’s powers; but it worked to keep other irritably curious humans away.

 

Yuuri raised a pale hand, fingers long and graceful, and blue power flared in his palm to hail their ride to the banquet. In an instant, six dark-as-night steeds pulled an equally midnight chariot – complete with wine red cushions. Knowing full well gods have long memories, especially when it came to disastrous banquets, Yuuri grimaced at Michele’s _(Ares)_ dig at the expense of his dignity. And with a confidence he didn’t feel, he gestured to the godly horses to take them to the dreaded banquet.

_Admetos raised his hand and the stranger acknowledged the youth with a nod. “How can they all leave at the same time? Wouldn’t that leave all of the Underworld unguarded? And what about the horrors of Tartarus? Couldn’t they all escape? And what about the-”_

_The old man shushed the overeager youth with a raised hand. “I don’t profess to know how the gods operate, but were I a god, I would ensure that safeguards were in place to prevent such occurrences from happening. Do you think the gods are not capable of doing a simple action as locking their realm behind them on their way out?” said the stranger. “Haven’t you heard of keys?”_

_He was met with blank stares and a few shaken heads, he pursed his lips, cast his eyes skyward, and thought for a moment. “Ah yes, silly me. Not yet. I always forget words starting with K. Forget I said anything.” And it seemed as if a few of the students did just that, though Pheres’s skepticism showed plainly on his face as the old man rolled out more of the scroll._

Stepping off the chariot, Mila promised to secure Vicchan for his presentation to the pantheon, to be held later in the festivities. Why an interpretive dance for the presentation of the feats was even necessary when only pantheon will see it – Celestino mentioned something to do with humans experiencing visions of these dances to fuel religious rites for the next century. In any case, Yuuri would need wine, lots of it, to get through the dancing part. And so he steeled himself and waded into the socializing party of his nightmares.

 

To describe the exact details of a banquet of the gods is an exercise in overachievement, one that Yuuri never found appealing. What with fountains flowing with ambrosial waters that perfumed the air; ostentatious drapery woven from only the finest golden fleece; and colonnades running off to who knows where. Yuuri could hardly take a step without tripping over a fainting couch, or fifty, cast in metals too precious to even grace the world’s surface. And _Stars_ were there swans _EVERYWHERE_. And not just swan motifs in embroidery, stone reliefs and paintings, no. Real. Live. Swans. Celestino’s work, to be certain, and Yuuri groaned to think he was related to the god who thought feats were produced with his dick.

 

Thanks to Phichit’s gossip, even Yuuri, down in the Underworld, had heard of Celestino’s latest conquest over the fair maiden Leda. Sex and attraction to another being, god or otherwise, had never really been foremost in Yuuri’s mind. Sure, he thought Emil _(Aphrodite)_ was pleasant to look at, everyone did, but Yuuri didn’t particularly want to take him back to his bedroom. He’d been too engrossed in keeping his realm orderly and inventing new tortures for the truly wicked down in Tartarus. Steal nectar from the gods and boil your son in appeasement? Down to Tartarus you go. Seduce your own niece and kill your honored guests? Yep, Tartarus time. Even worse, stealing fire from the gods. That sentence was the hardest for Yuuri to carry out since Prometheus was technically his cousin, twice or thrice-removed, he could never keep his family tree straight. No, he’d been way too busy for any romance in his life, unlike his oversexed sibling.

 

Speaking of, as soon as Celestino spied Yuuri, he thundered over to grab him in a crushing half-hug before hammering him on the back. “And here we were making bets to see whether you would actually show up or not Yuuri. Thanks to you, I now own half of the Aegean!” he boomed with a gregarious grin, lightning sparked around his eyebrows in a show of merriment – and a testament to how much he had drunk already.

 

“You _would_ own half the Aegean, _if_ you had bet he would show up late, like I did,” laughed Mari _(Poseidon)_ as she splashed in on her own chariot, pulled by seahorses, naturally. “Instead, you owe _me_ an adequately-muscled hero to beat back Scylla and Charybdis so ships can pass through to my hot springs temple; Hercules would do nicely, or maybe Odysseus. And, don’t think I’ve forgotten; you still owe me another set of islands for betting on the content of Yuuri’s feat last banquet, dear sibling.” Mari smacked Celestino’s shoulder and grinned, leaning back on a golden column.

 

She threw Yuuri a half-hearted wave along with a lop-sided smile. “Missed ya little brother,” she said while she pulled an inexplicably lit cigarette- _(a tube of tobacco you light and breath the smoke, explained the old man)_ from her sopping wet robes and popped it between her lips. “You hole yourself away in your realm way too often.”

 

Yuuri flinched. His tendency toward isolation and introspection had often been a topic during previous gatherings. Halfway he wondered if it was due to him being the youngest of their siblings. Was it so bad that he just wanted to be on his own without the noisiness that came with a large, crazily boisterous family? He tolerated Mila since she answered his door for him.

 

“Where’s this coming from, Mari? Nothing’s changed, why now?” he said.

 

“Oh you know, just sisterly concern. You look pale, well, paler than usual,” Mari took a drag on her cigarette and blew a deep blue puff of smoke that shaped itself into a lively dolphin that jumped playfully around Yuuri’s head. “You should get out and see the world beyond your gates, you know, live a little!” she laughed at her own little pun. “But if you want to stay shut in with your mopey shades, you know I’ll support you in whatever decision you make. Just…..come up for fresh air once in a while, yeah?” Throwing her glance back at her gregarious sibling, who was currently plying one of Christophe’s Maenad retinue with yet another golden kantharos of wine, “Celestino and the rest of our siblings would never admit it, but they miss having your scrawny butt up here in Olympus. Besides, who’s gonna school the new gods on the block? Not me and my two left feet!”

 

Not entirely where Mari was going with this gentle ribbing, a non-committal whine issued from his throat. _Stars_ knew he missed the warmth and the light of the Upperworld. His realm was less about creature comforts and more making do with slimy rocks and dripping ceilings; though in a way Yuuri loved how the cool walls gleamed low in the shade light.

 

Mari would have continued to hold Yuuri hostage if Phichit didn’t swoop in to rescue him from his sibling. Throwing himself into a deep, bone-crushing Yuuri hug, Phichit giggled, “There’s my delightful, delectable God of Death. I just want to take a huge bite out of you!” Phichit mouthed playfully at Yuuri’s neck, causing the god to giggle. Phichit pouted at his sister. “Now Mari, sharing Yuuri time is an important skill to exercise.” With arms hooked, Phichit whisked Yuuri away, while he tossed Mari a wink over his shoulder.

 

Yuuri released a long breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and leaned into his friends arm as he was guided dream-like across Olympus; gods and goddesses politely bowed their heads in acknowledgement at the passing of the Lord Unseen. A few new gods whom Yuuri didn’t recognize openly stared at him; which made Yuuri uncomfortable in his own skin, like _he_ was the one with three heads instead of Vicchan. Not to be overlooked, Phichit kept running gossip about this god or that goddess, most of which made Yuuri blush brightly.

 

As they neared the bar area set up by Chris-

_“A bar is….?” Iokaste asked._

_The old man pouted at the interruption. “A social place where drinks are imbibed and flirtation between attractive people happens, often.” The stranger chuffed a laugh. “It’s a place where my duties are a lot easier.”_

_“-And just exactly what are your duties?” Pheres jumped in, trying to catch the stranger offguard._

_Not even breaking stride the old man replied, “Why my duties are currently reading a new tale of the gods to ripe, eager, young men, of course.” And with a warning glance at Pheres, the stranger continued._

A sharp string of expletives, issued from a slender-bodied, blonde god, assaulted the approaching gods. A real, live human was insinuating himself into the young god’s personal space, as anyone with ears could clearly figure out. Though how a human ended up in Olympus was beyond Yuuri’s comprehension. Yuuri leaned over to Phichit and whispered in his ear, “Who’s the human groping Yuri _(Art-)_

_“Wait, ANOTHER Yuri?” sneered Pheres. “Don’t tell me, did the gods run out of names?”_

_The stranger, pinned Pheres with a piercing stare that left him shaking despite the warmth of the fire. If he hadn’t felt rooted to the spot, he would have turned tail and bolted the entire rest of the way to Delphi. But when his companions asked what the problem was, he just shook his head nervously._

_Smiling like a generous benefactor, the old man turned back to the rest of the group. “I suppose without context it does make it confusing. Fine then, I’ll call him Yurio.”_

“Who’s the human groping Yurio _(Artemis)_? Does he realize that after Yurio is done with him, he might not get his hands back,” lamely joked Yuuri. Phichit groaned.

 

Slinging an oenochoe of wine up to his shoulder and with three gold drinking vessels in his other hand, Chris slipped over to their group. “Yuuri! I was hoping you’d show up. Think you can take care of the little human for me, maybe show him the way to your realm? One of my Maenads fell head over heels for him, JJ _(Narcissus)_ I think he’s called, during my last festival and now he just won’t leave!” Chris handed wine out among them and Yuuri sniffed this vintage carefully; Chris was known for wine that could knock a minotaur on its ass.

 

Once he determined the alcohol wouldn’t blind him, he took an overly large gulp of the wine to calm him down from running into his siblings right off the bat. “Chris, that’s not how it works and you know it. Taking human lives isn’t in my job description. Talk to the Moirai for that, though don’t expect it to come cheaply. The Fates are fickle; they don’t really like Olympians, me especially, all that much,” said Yuuri.

_Admetos piped up “Why don’t the Fates like the Olympians? I thought they worked with Yuuri down in the Underworld.”_

_“They do, but, wouldn’t you be mad if someone banished your mother to Tartarus?” the old man chuckled. “Luckily, the Moirai are considered neutral among the pantheon, well, mostly. They seem to have it out for Yuuri.”_

_“Yuuri,” scoffed Pheres. “Don’t you mean Hades, shadow-walker and god of the underrealm? Do you mean to bring his wrath down upon us with these tales?” He crossed his arms._

_Just as the old man opened his mouth to reply, Iokaste jumped in. “No! He meant Yuuri. You’re being rude to the storyteller, Pheres. And I for one want to hear the story.”_

_“And, one shouldn’t be so certain of one’s knowledge, young buck. The gods have long memories for those who disrespect them,” the stranger’s eyes seemed to glow in the low light of the fire. “Now, am I to continue, or shall we leave off at this juncture?”_

_The chorus shouted to continue, while Pheres stomped off into the near woods. The old man’s gaze followed the young man and, with a strange gesture over his heart, continued to read._

Though he had more contact with the trio than the other gods, Yuuri was glad the encounters had with the Moirai numbered less than 100. The trio could be unusually…intense. The eldest, Loop _(Atropos),_ especially gave him cold, assessing looks whenever they appeared in the Underworld for their cut of the ferry fees. Looking at him, it felt like they were dressing him down for an unknowable offense he committed at some point. Maybe they instinctually knew he wished for more control over how humans passed; just maybe then shades would be able to retain something of their past lives – to exist as more than a thing of the Underworld. But that would be encroaching on their turf.

 

Instead Axel _(Clotho)_ spun their short lives from the moment of birth, Lutz _(Lachesis)_ measured the length, and Loop _(Atropos, again)_ sheared them cleanly from the fabric of life. All according to their complex plan. Yuuri believed they shouldn’t have to leave things up to the Fates. Humans should have control of their own destiny, not living some proscribed path, sculpted to fit into a gigantic puzzle, immovable and unchanging.

 

But the Moirai were unlikely to give him any leeway regarding human life, or death. He was just there to make sure the shades stayed hidden in his Realm Unseen; just like he was. Some God of Death he was. Glorified night watchgod was more like it, he grimaced as he drained his wine. Yuuri’s already low opinion of himself plummeted further and the kantharos trembled in his fingers.

 

Sensing his friend’s mood, Phichit swept Yuuri into a hug and placed a light kiss on his cheek. “Oh Yuuri, of course they like you. We all like you, very much.” Chris agreed by fondling Yuuri’s ass.

 

Yuuri snorted at the statement. Of course his best friend would say that. It’s what friends do. But it didn’t change the facts, as Yuuri saw them. With his luck, he probably will face plant during his feat dance presentation, therefore creating doubt in his ability to contain Vicchan’s powers, thusly causing his siblings to refuse Vicchan’s registration and he’d lose his fluffy companion, thereby leaving his gates unguarded again, meaning the Titans, and all the rest of the evil, could break free from Tartarus. As his mind spun down the path of destruction, his vision narrowed down to a pin point. Phichit and Chris’s concerned voices sounded terribly far away. Everything was crashing down around his shoulders and the emotions steeped into the fabric of his robe multiplied his own anxious state. How could he even think he could stand tall alongside his golden siblings, who benefitted humanity in so many ways. The perfume of the wine and the music from other feat presentations crowded into his consciousness, reminding him of everything he couldn’t be, ringing a death toll of his time among the light. He needed to run back to his dark, damp realm full of shades and spooks. He needed his books. His solitude. He need-

 

Then a hand lightly cupped his chin and tilted his face upward and Yuuri’s focus came back with startling clarity on a set of cerulean blue eyes, shining in concern and bright with another emotion that Yuuri couldn’t place. He didn’t know how he had sunk to kneel on the floor, but the god before him was just so perfect that Yuuri couldn’t even consider a position where he wasn’t kneeling before him. His chest felt too tight and a flushing heat spread from where the god held him. And _Stars_ did the warmth feel so good. It seeped into his flesh and bones, coloring his outlook to seem not so dire as five seconds ago. He could have sat like that forever.

 

“You’re Yuuri,” gasped the God of Perfection in front of him, recognition lit his eyes and a smile started to grow; Helen of Troy had nothing on this god as far as Yuuri was concerned. His hair glinted silvery in the light of Olympus in a way that Yuuri found utterly fascinating.

 

Just then, Minako _(Demeter)_ stumbled onto their island, breaking the bubble that seemed to enclose them. “There y’are little Yuuri! Was wonnerin’ when hai’d runninn-inn- into you,” she poked him in his chest, her words slurring together oiled by wine, wine and more wine, compliments of Chris’s ever-flowing oenochoe. “Hai need ya ta come meet mai prohte- protejay-jai? Protégé, Viktor. He’s riiiight over-” She started to yank Yuuri up, but Viktor stepped in and pulled Yuuri away from his drunk mentor, holding Yuuri close to his side. The fabric of their clothes bunched up between them and Yuuri’s head swam at the close contact. Minako swayed on her feet. “Oh! Viktor! Didn’t you wan’ to meet Yuuri? He’s over her-” Her finger shifted to point to Yuuri and after a few moments where they both could see the drunken wheels turning, she smiled and said, “Hai shee you foun’ each other. Good. Yuuri, Biiktor. Biiktor, Yuuri. Okay, we good?” And with that Chris and Phichit guided her back to the bar and started to give her ambrosial water.

 

“Um,” said Yuuri, in a display his sparkling wit.

 

“Oh, yes, sorry,” lightly blushing, Viktor released his hold on Yuuri. “M-Minako usually isn’t that bad, or that drunk. She’s uneasy since it’s my first banquet and wants my first feat to reflect well on her.” Viktor rambled and tore his gaze from Yuuri to look at his mentor, slumped across the bar.

 

Yuuri belatedly remembered Mila mentioning Viktor’s feat being something of the pantheon was eagerly looking forward to. “Oh? And what’s your first feat?”

 

If Yuuri thought Viktor’s smile was nice before, it was nothing compared to how much it shone as he started to talk about his feat. Yuuri very nearly sighed, but remembered he was in the middle of Olympus where his every gesture was being analyzed and criticized, so he downed another gulp of wine, damn Chris’s every-filling kantharos. Viktor gushed, “Oh she’s the best! I created Makkachin _(Chimera)_ to be a friend to all animals. I’d heard about your creation of your guard and it inspired me to try creating my own creature!”

 

Just then Minako started whooping and climbing up on the bar and Viktor ran off to attempt to calm her down.

 

Yuuri’s heart sank. For now, not only was there two monstrous creatures to be presented for recognition, but one was created by this perfect slice of godhood. How could Yuuri and Vicchan even stand a chance for registration when the odds are so stacked against him?

 

Then, Leo’s _(Iris)_ voice magically resonated through Olympus. “The feat presentation for Yuuri begins in five minutes; I repeat, God of Death Yuuri will begin the dance presentation of his feat on the center stage in five minutes.”

* * *

 

 

The old man yawned and he rolled the scroll back up, the students moaning in disappointment.

 

“That’s all I have in me for tonight,” he said.

 

“But you promised the end of the world! Can’t you keep going for five more minutes?” whined Iokaste.

 

The stranger’s eyes flashed brightly. “All good things to those who wait, younglings. This is called a minor cliffhanger. You’ll find out more tomorrow. I can see you all are tired as I am,” and suddenly they were. Sleep stole among them, though Pheres had yet to return to the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for those keeping score, here are the gods mentioned in this chapter (and one human)  
> Yuuri (Hades)  
> Viktor (Persephone)  
> Mila (Charon)  
> Phichit (Eros)  
> Chris (Dionysis)  
> Celestino (Zeus)  
> Vicchan (Cerberus  
> Sueng-Gil (Hephaestus)  
> Michele (Ares)  
> Emil (Aphrodite)  
> Mari (Poseidon)  
> Yurio (Artemis)  
> JJ (Narcissus)  
> Axel (Clotho)  
> Lutz (Lachesis)  
> Loop (Atropos)  
> Minako (Demeter)  
> Makkachin (Chimera)  
> Leo (Iris)  
> Also also, because I'm a Greek mythology nerd, I looked this shit up:  
> kantharos=ornate two-handled greek drinking vessel  
> oenochoe=Ancient greek wine jug  
> Also also also, Oenchoe shares the same Greek root as oenologist, which is a fancy name for a wine expert. Yay linguistics!  
> And I'm sorry for the terrible NKTOB pun. I'm horrible. ITS HORRIBLE. UGH.
> 
> Edited for a small typo, (as a former editor I can't not fix it)  
> And does anyone know why I have two notes displayed at the bottom of my work and how to get it turned off? It's showing both my first chapter end note and this new one...


	3. It's the end of the world as we know it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The banquet concludes as Yuuri faces a world turned on its head. Not only is he presenting with the kiddie group, but he has to outshine the bright new star that is the God of Spring, Viktor. At least Phichit is there to help with some pointers. Oh, and the world nearly ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out longer than I originally planned, but it's worth it for the payoff that's coming. Poor Yuuri, he really is starting to fall, until he gets a rude awakening. the new Phichit and Yuuri tag is nothing to be afraid of, it's not followed through and really, Phichit is the god of love, so of course he sexes everyone up. Especially sinnamon roll Yuuri.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

As it was before, so it is now that the stranger materialized beside their fire. The students had woken to find Pheres trembling in their group, hair now white as the driven snow of the Peloponnese Mountains. When they probed their friend for answers, he gave no explanation, but a thread of fear ran behind his eyes.

 

During the night a thunderous storm descended upon the valley and the group were woken by a war fought in the sky, clashes between the gods, they feared. The trees whipped into a frenzy, their fallen branches sharp as arrows struck just outside their shelter and Pheres flinched at each lightning strike. Admetos gently rubbed his back to soothe the jumpy youth, which seemed to calm Pheres.

 

Fearing reprisal from the gods, the group decided to stay until the storm passed. But it seemed the wrath of the gods was long-winded and the day disappeared, hidden behind ominous sheets of rain backlit by lightning. Perhaps the storm masked the strangers approach, no one knew and no one was willing to ask how he appeared so suddenly each night.

 

“Ah the storyteller!” Iokaste noticed the old man first and, with a glint of excitement dancing on his face, he asked, “Tell me we will hear about the end of the world this time! How did the land survive? How did man and the beasts not all perish? I’m dying to know!”

 

The stranger opened his mouth to answer, but Admetos jumped in before he had a chance to speak. “Wait, what about Pheres? He shakes like a newborn calf just dropped from his mother! Know you anything about this? Tell me what happened to him,” Admetos demands.

 

An enigmatic smile hints on the old man’s face and his chocolate eyes betray nothing. “Happened? I see no injury to his body,” the old man leaned in to peer closely to Pheres, who shuffled away under the scrutiny. Eyeing Pheres’s changed hair, the old man hummed. “Swift are the gods to exact retribution for slights, real or imagined, to their characters. Mayhap our little friend was visited by one such god? And I daresay the Thunderer is making his own point rather loudly.” The old man smirked, threw his gaze upward, and shook his head.

 

“Still, considering the oftentimes heavy-handed approach of the gods, I think our friend got off rather lightly, do you not think? He’ll often be visited by visions,” the old man punctuated his sentences with his fingers, “but such is the life of those touched by the gods. Ah to be hailed as a seer to the gods – or to be ostracized for lunacy, his fate lies in his hands. Either option has its own appeal. I ought to know.” The old man winked and giggled behind his hand.

 

“But perhaps I can help him by-” the old man made the same strange gesture over his heart, pulled his hand away, held it up and blew something sparkling red at the young man, whose eyes slid out of focus momentarily, then softened as Pheres slouched over Admetos and threw a lingering hug ‘round his shoulders, his face serene. Admetos bore his friend’s affection with a gentle smile.

 

“There, fixed. Er, somewhat. Just don’t allow him to operate anything heavy for at least a fortnight. Some side effects can occur, but they’re as unpredictable as Emil’s lovers,” chuckled the old man as he spread the scroll open and began to read, the students enraptured by the warm tone of his voice.

* * *

 

 

Below them, the land shook apart as quakes rolled across the countryside in waves. The power coiled darkly inside Yuuri and cracks, spilling with deep blue energy, split his porcelain skin. As if in empathy, fissures tore open the skin of Gaia below, swallowing man and beast alike, radiating from the entrance of Yuuri’s Underworld. Yuuri, limned in blinding light, his fought to control the power snaking just below his skin-

_“Wait what? You skipped something!” Iokaste jumped in._

_The old man sucked his teeth in disappointment. “It’s called Non-linear narrative and you said you wanted to hear about the end of the world. Well I’m giving it to you now.”_

_“But what about everything that happened before it? Just tell the story from start to end, please?”_

_A muttered sigh sounding suspiciously like “plebian” and “underappreciated” escaped the storyteller’s lips. “I see. I see I’m not wanted. Fine, no interesting storytelling here. No challenging narration, nor embedded dialogue for you fine young men. I suppose I’ll just leave. These aren’t the stories you’re looking for. Move along.”_

_Iokaste’s face fell and the rest of the group began to plead with the stranger to stay and finish the story. The old man burst into wheezy laughter. “I’m just having a go at you. This story needs to be told so it won’t be lost to time.” The stranger cleared his throat and began again._

 

“-I repeat, God of Death Yuuri will begin the dance presentation of his feat on the center stage in five minutes.” Leo’s announcement rang like a clarion call through the halls of Olympus; the gods and goddesses gave a startled pause before murmurs started to buzz like flies around Yuuri. He bit his lips; as if he couldn’t hear their sniggers and feel their judging gazes.

 

Why had his performance been moved up? He was supposed to present with all the other elder gods on the final day of the banquet. Was he no longer good enough to present on the same day as his shining siblings, is this how little regard they gave him? Yuuri’s gut twisted, the weighty expectations of this feat loomed large just behind his shoulder, waiting for him to make a mistake, waiting to sink its teeth into Yuuri’s flesh and drag him down into Tartarus. With his luck his punishment would be something along the lines of a never-ending performance to a stony crowd, the thought gelled his mind thickly.

 

He’d planned on refining the emotions behind his dance right up until his performance, the failure of his previous feat dredged up in his mind. Nightmares of oh-so-many falls and misplaced emotions – hyper sexualized, his ass. He’d intended confident judge and jailor – melded together with the horror of his siblings’ expressions, smirking and barely hidden grins, as they watched the wreck that was his presentation of Tartarus as an expertly crafted prison. When he returned to his realm he threw away the robes stained black and crimson with the salacious intent of a man who died in the throes of passion.

_“If I’m going to go, I want it to be in the arms of my lover too!” gushed Admetos, squeezing Pheres slightly._

_The old man snorted. “You make it sound as if you have all the say in the world regarding your demise. There is no “if” in death, young sapling,” the old man ground out. “The only choice in the matter is how you face it_ when _it comes for you.” The stranger’s gaze was immovable, a finality to it, as if death was just then lurking hungrily for their shades. The young scholars sobered a bit at the statement, swallowing thickly._

_“Still, could be worse,” the old man said cheerily, “You could do something so horrific, so unconscionable and beyond moral reproach that you land yourself on the shores of Tartarus.” He swept the group with one final hard glance. “So I guess the moral of this story is,” and he cleared his throat, “Stop Interrupting Your Elders.”_

 

-And if anything could make the situation worse, the oh-so-perfect God of Spring, with his gilded hair, oceanic gaze, and, if Yuuri was honest, an ass carved from the finest marble, would now be a part of that coterie of gods tailor-made to mock him. Well, why wouldn’t he? Yuuri had shown up at a veritable museum dedicated to the gods, where great works sprouted like weeds in a forest – _stars_ , even laid-back Mari presented the freaking underwater city Atlantis as her last feat – and Yuuri? Yuuri brought his dog for show and tell. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the bitter, near maniacal laughter from escaping.

 

An excitement thrummed through the hall, the edges of their expectations left score marks on his shade. Even Chris and Phichit exchanged eager glances – turning expectantly towards the Lord Unseen. To Yuuri it was worse than facing down Cronus and Rhea, his monstrous parents – no, literally – and the rest of the Titans. He scanned the crowd, looking for some form of relief, some raft of hope in a sea of disappointment and he thought he caught a flash of silver from the corner of his eye, though when he looked again, it was gone.

 

In the end, it was Mila to bring news, his little Psychopomp, desperately flying on her tiny wings, though she never deemed it appropriate to use them in the Underworld. The whole situation was so farcical, so engineered to turn his world upside-down, that Yuuri couldn’t help the astonished giggle bubbling up inside him as Mila careened into him. It startled Mila that Yuuri didn’t even bother to extricate himself from her light hold, though she took advantage of the moment while she had it.

 

She explained the Moirai intervened and insisted Yuuri present this first day, and the rest of the elder pantheon, excepting Mari, had backed down.

 

That his siblings would abandon him was no surprise to Yuuri, but it stung all the same. Yuuri’s gut was a riot of emotion as he woodenly turned to the center stage, waiting for the axe to fall on his neck. If he was going to be humiliated, at least he could do so with the poise expected of an elder god. His head seemed to divorce itself from his body and float on a cloud of unreality, the surreal quality of the past few minutes of his life softening the edges of his panic. It made the trembling in his legs and hands at least bearable enough to walk.

 

One step, then another, brought him to the enormous stage in the center of Olympus. A pair of unfamiliar young gods, both tanned with piercing violet eyes,were just finishing their joint feat presentation. _Of course_ the two of them presented together, even if it had never been allowed before. _Of course_ they were given a break. How he wished Phichit could present with him, maybe then he wouldn’t feel like he was stepping over the edge of Olympus to crash to the land below. No, why would anything be simple for the Lord of the Underworld, Yuuri sighed heavily.

 

“Yuuri! Wait don’t go on yet. Let me talk to them,” said a warm voice, it sounded as close as if he were whispering in Yuuri’s ear, clear and assured, with a slight curl on the tail end of his name. As Yuuri turned, he saw another flash of silver and Viktor’s robes that changed with the weather – now a storm-cloud grey – billowing behind the running god. A flutter blossomed in Yuuri’s chest and he rubbed the center to make the strange sensation go away.

 

Yuuri considered just going on anyway; the Moirai were highly unlikely to grant a boon to any god, let alone a young one like Viktor, it’d be better to just get it over with rather than holding out hope. But something deep within Yuuri _did_ hold onto the hope that Viktor would be the one god to convince the ancient Fates to change their decision. And so, he stood, and waited. Just like Viktor said.

 

If Yuuri noted Mila eyeing the retreating God of Spring, evaluating and calculating, he never let on. He, however, did spare a thank you nod at his Psychopomp. Channeling her inner Yuuri, Mila kept her thoughts to herself and her expression closely guarded; which honestly surprised Yuuri. She was, after all, the Psychopomp with her heart on her sleeve – albeit safely behind a snappy tongue and a take-no-shit yew staff.

 

Without any explanation, she released her hold of him, leaving Yuuri high and dry. But when he tried to call after her, to keep someone on his side, his throat clenched around the words. If he couldn’t trust her to have his back, then who could he? As he cast about for any sign of help, he was met with a wall of indifference obfuscated behind the flow of wine. Yurio was still fending off the adventurous human; a dark-horse of a god, stout in stature and countenance of a soldier, was two steps away from stepping in; and Yuuri knew better than to step in when the hunter god was on the rampage. He wondered if the young god knew what hornet’s nest he was about to tread upon. Phichit was cavorting with Chris and a young god with a flighty frame whom Yuuri had yet to meet; sharing juicy gossip, if Yuuri knew his friend.

_“Why are the other gods so mean to Yuuri? Isn’t Phichit supposed to be his best friend, so why is he off drinking with Chris instead of helping him? Some friend he is,” snorted Iokaste._

_The air tightened and a sickeningly floral scent filtered into everyone’s senses, threatening to choke them._

_“You misunderstand how the gods operate,” the old man said, his voice tight and controlled. “It’s not that Phichit wasn’t willing to be there for Yuuri; it’s just a difference in scale.” When the students gave him confused looks, he continued. “See, the gods don’t hold the same regard to time that you humans do. Rather than count the years, hours and seconds notable on a human scale, they mark eons by the collapse of stars and the convergence of galaxies; the momentary emotional trivialities matter less to a god, so their response to one such event is lessened. Plus,” the old man shrugged, “Yuuri’s always been a bit of a sensitive soul.”_

_Admetos looked thoughtful. “But it seems that the gods show emotions, like anger, in many ways. Like how Demeter, er, Minako, made barren my cousin’s land because he didn’t give her temple tithe the year past,” he scratched his head, “so they care only about what us humans do, and not their fellow gods?”_

_“Oh the gods care a great deal about duty and respect, both from humanity and from their brethren,” the old man pointedly nods at the shock-haired Pheres. “But throwing down against the Moirai? No god in their right mind would do that, even to help their best friend.” His lips pursed a thin line as if swallowing a bitter pill._

_“They’re old pantheon from before thought and physical form existed. Nyx, the night, borne of Chaos, birthed the Fates in a space before there even was the concept of space,” The stranger fixed each and every man with such a gaze that sucked their breath from their lungs as he punctuated each line by jabbing a finger to each man in turn. “that which held no doom, no pain, no strife, no friendship, no deceit…no dreams.” His gaze rested finally back on Admetos. “To challenge the Moirai is to challenge fate itself. THAT is why they let Yuuri test his own fate; better than to put theirs on the line.”_

_If Admetos hadn’t been watching the stranger closely, he would have missed the tiny break, the momentary lip tremble even as the old man locked his constitution in stone. The stranger made another strange gesture over his heart before he cleared his throat._

 

His body halfway to trudging onto the stage as the Moirai wished, yet some part of him also held out hope for Victor even as he reasoned the stupidity of going against the Fates. A flutter of tiny canary-yellow wings and a set of robes that dazzled Yuuri’s vision in shimmering prismatics announced Leo’s arrival. The young Psychopomp, whom Yuuri contracted on occasion, unrolled a golden scroll and, with disbelief riding high in his voice, read. “It is decided to allow Viktor, the God of Spring, to switch order with Yuuri, the God of Death. As such the Lord Anew is making ready his presentation and the Lord Unseen shall present at the close of this day. Any other changes to this sacred schedule will be met with most severe reproach and punishment. That is all,” concluded Leo as he closed his scroll.

 

The cheerful god leaned over to Yuuri and whispered “Yuuri, you should have seen him in front of the Moirai; never seen a god speak so passionately about anything.” Yuuri fiddled with his kantharos as he took that piece of information in, a small smile blossomed. To think that a god he hardly knew was willing to step up on his behalf, the same warm flush flowed through him and dusted Yuuri’s cheeks with a light blush. Viktor really was perfect.

 

“Passionate, you say?” asked Yuuri. He wondered what inspired such a response from the God of Spring.

 

“Yeah, passion,” Leo trailed off as Phichit’s group at the bar burst into laughter, the tiny wisp of a god giggled at some joke, which made his freckles dance and a gentle wind constantly plucked at his hair. “If only-” Leo cut himself off before blushing deeply. Yuuri gave him a curious look, which Leo waved off with a forced smile before returning to his announcer duties.

* * *

 

 

The grand hall, festooned in opulence and the entire spice rack of overindulgence, dimmed as the silver-haired god took measured paces to the center of the stage. The pantheon ringed the stage, which was a flat black disc, nowhere to hide any imperfections in the performance; everything was on display for evaluation and critique. Gone was his stormy robe and in its place, a garment that punched the breath from Yuuri.

 

It was as if someone were to translate Yuuri’s black and crimson robes from the previous banquet, but different somehow, better. Handsome. Instead of highlighting all Yuuri’s awkward angles and the incongruous softness in his hips and thighs, this garment flowed around the god like it was praying in obeisance to the very concept of perfection embodied. Where the tantalizing see-through bits were groan-inducing in Yuuri – despite Phichit’s continued insistence to the contrary – on Viktor they sent electricity running down Yuuri’s spine, the curious warmth spreading through the God of Death. Viktor had even updated the design with captivating mercurial silver shards that winked at Yuuri, balancing the undiluted _sex_ that radiated from the Lord Anew. Yuuri swallowed around his too-thick tongue, mouth suddenly dry.

 

As Viktor took his place in the exact center, head poised down and arms clasped around his shoulders, Yuuri expected Muse Calliope to create a slow, sensual, burning song for Viktor’s presentation to match the mood set by his costume choice. A tripping, playful [violin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbCnqoxmyCE)-

_Iokaste raised his hand. “What’s a violin?”_

_The old man arched his brow artfully. “Instruments of the gods with which you have no experience, so deal with it. Just pay attention to the emotion conveyed and you’ll get the gist of their performances. Now, interruptions aside….” He eyed the group with a warning._

 

A tripping, playful violin opened the piece, Viktor was unmoving in the center stage. Just as an aria joyfully painted scenes about pleasures and love ceaselessly, he whipped his head upright. For a moment it seemed like those cerulean eyes locked with Yuuri’s chocolate ones, a blush crept back onto Yuuri’s flushed face, with a smile the God of Spring leapt into a whirlwind of action. As Viktor danced, it was like he glided effortlessly on the stage, the surface offering no resistance to the performing god, skating a blurred edge between fantasy and reality.

 

The rest of the gods and goddesses watching dimmed and fell away, mere insects to be shooed away for their annoyances, as Yuuri was drawn in by Viktor’s dance. The Lord of Spring’s expression waxed and waned between euphoria and exaltation, always with a wonderful heart-shaped smile that Yuuri couldn’t help by reply with his own smile – albeit with a dopey, half-drooling one.

 

Viktor spun in an ever-changing spiral, one moment nearly sitting with a leg tucked behind, another, he gracefully opened his chest skyward, hand reaching toward the stars, expression searching. Interspersed with filigree footwork, he glided fluidly into ever-quickening series of loops around the stage. Then, as the aria reached its crescendo, Viktor let momentum carry him into a leap that flipped the audience’s perception of up and down, day and night, love versus hate; and in the same movement his black and crimson robes flashed to a blinding white with accents of blue to match his eyes. When Yuuri gasped – and the audience, he belatedly noted – he saw the smile on Viktor’s face widen with glorious pride. And his exuberance was infectious, and Yuuri was more than willing to be infected.

 

Finishing on a slow spin, head tucked down as he started, arms now extended and relaxed, perpendicular to his chest, palms supine, as if he was about to catch a stray ray of sunshine.

 

The Gods In Attendance went wild with adulation and commendations as Viktor made a gesture and his creature, Makkachin appeared beside him. Yuuri startled, so enraptured by Viktor’s performance, he completely forgot they were deep in Olympus, in the midst of their feat presentations. Or that Viktor’s feat was in direct competition with Yuuri.

 

He should try to find fault in the God of Spring and his monstrous creature, if anything just to better secure the standing of his own feat, but Yuuri was having a hard time doing so. His heart was beating like a bird flying in the face of a gale; all his attention focused on a single point of light in the distance. A single point that happened to have hair made from the brightest silver. And, not to be outdone by her creator, Makkachin made a snake tail, wings of eagle, hind legs of a lion, and a baby goat head on her left shoulder somehow adorable. It didn’t help that her doggy head had the dopiest doggy grin plastered on it.

 

Viktor reached down and with sunshine on his smile, gave her a rough scritch between both head’s ears and Makkachin melted. Truthfully, Yuuri melted a bit too.

 

“Gods and goddesses of this esteemed pantheon, I present to you Makkachin, a creature of my own creation. Being comprised of mammal, reptile, avian, both prey and predator,” Viktor’s clear voice rang through the halls. “She will be the creature to knit the animal kingdom together!”

 

Minako stepped beside Yuuri, eyes clear from any wine as she mouthed the rest of his speech along with Viktor, pride gleaming brightly in them. She nudged the God of Death and, without taking her gaze off her protégé, said “Quite the performance, eh Yuuri? He could even be a greater danseur than you.” When Yuuri scoffed self-depreciatingly at the statement, she pinched her brow, shaking her head. “Anyway, he told me to make sure you were watching, but looks like I didn’t need to.” She clapped louder than the rest of the pantheon when Viktor bowed and left the stage in an excited gallop, Makkachin nipping playfully at his heels.

 

Minako joined Viktor at the deliberation area where many gods kissed their loved ones, or cried in anguish. But given the faces of the Gods In Attendance, Viktor had nothing to fear, Makkachin was sure to garner high marks. Face flushed with exertion, Viktor swept Minako up into twirling hug, excitement tinted the moment rosy, literally.

 

“Yuuri! Are you ready for tonight? I thought you’d be freaking out by now,” called Phichit as he seduced half of the gods in the hall with his wiggling hips as he walked over to check on his friend. “I mean, Viktor’s performance was stunning I think we all agree,” said Phichit as he tapped Yuuri’s open mouth closed.

 

Yuuri didn’t even know it was gaping open like some moonstruck goldfish, go him. Bathed in the afterglow of Viktor’s performance, Yuuri had completely forgotten harsh reality of the situation, which crashed down on Yuuri all at once, though its edge had been blunted by the awe Yuuri held for the God of Perfection. He’d set himself up to follow that sublime performance later in the day, great. He was definitely not ready to tackle the complicated dance he needed perform if he was going to convince the Gods In Attendance to accept Vicchan.

 

“But really, he’s got nothing on you. I mean, I can encourage romantic feelings with my ‘Set ‘em up, Knock ‘em down’ patented luuuurve shaft,” Yuuri stifled a giggle as Phichit winked and fondled one of his arrows in a manner not fit for children. “But you don’t even need to use your powers, you just step on stage and your body throws these dangerously sensuous shapes. You _kill_ them every time. And don’t you dare make the God of Death joke again!” warned Phichit as Yuuri opened his mouth to crack said joke. “Everyone, and I mean _everyone_ pays attention when you dance, Yuuri.”

 

“Only because they’re analyzing me for weaknesses and gauging how they could top me,” Yuuri mumbled, to which Phichit pouted and another 10 gods fell for the Lord of Lurve.

 

Phichit leveled a no-shit-sherlock gaze at the blushing god, the air surrounding them perfumed a too-sweet floral scent. “Yuuri, I think; no, even better; I know many gods want to top you,” said Phichit. “Myself included,” he softly added to himself, swallowing the words nearly as he said them at the same time as a group of gods passed loudly by.

 

“Sorry Phichit, what was that?” Yuuri gave his friend a questioning look, to which Phichit just shook his head and smiled beatifically before pulling the God of the Underrealm away to warm up and practice for his performance.

 

Yuuri consequently didn’t see Viktor finish up with the judgement, didn’t hear his astounding scores. Nor did he hear Viktor call to him, heart-shaped smile on high-beams. Didn’t see that smile gradually lessen until it had fallen and crashed to the earth below – there must have been a heart-shaped meteor crash site – as Yuuri and Phichit rushed from the great hall, Makkachin pressed her body against Viktor’s legs.

* * *

 

 

Sequestered in a room far away from the banquet, Yuuri found some quiet and solace, though the occasional burst of laughter popped the sanctum, and once a huge roar from the distant crowd rattled the walls, and Yuuri’s concentration. Yuuri was _so_ glad _they’re_ having fun, yay. If Phichit hadn’t been there, helping Yuuri parse out his intentions behind his dance moves by gauging Phichit’s reactions, he didn’t know if he could have calmed down enough to even move let alone practice.

 

While Leo’s muffled announcement of Chris’s feat – “Wine again, I bet you,” said Phichit with a devilish grin – filtered to their area, Yuuri danced through pride, then shimmied into confidence and flirted with determination, before he landed on his ending; hope. With each iteration, Phichit gave enthusiastic feedback and would occasionally step in to help pose Yuuri to better emphasize his point, which Yuuri accepted gratefully.

 

As the day wore on, Phichit seemed to find more and more excuses to pose Yuuri. Finally, when Phichit’s hands wandered all over Yuuri’s hips and inner legs as the God of Love insisted the emotion would be conveyed _fantastically_ better by spreading his legs _just_ a little further, Yuuri snapped. “Phichit! I’m trying to instill confidence in my ability to control Vicchan. You know how tight-”

 

“Well something’s tight, let me tell ya,” said Phichit from his position kneeling between Yuuri’s spread eagle legs. Phichit took a lingering moment to appreciate the view.

 

Yuuri tightened his jaw and stomped his foot at the interruption. “You know how tight the monstrous creature restrictions are after the Gorgon Debacle. I’m not trying to seduce the audience here.”

 

“Well, maybe you should, everyone’s a sucker for a love story,” said Phichit. If there were a camera- _(another device of the gods, it’ll be huge, said the old man)_ Phichit would have looked directly into the lens. “Besides, you’re way too stiff,” he ducked underneath Yuuri’s legs to pop behind the Lord Unseen to massage his shoulders. “You’re going make the audience freeze up just by watching you. Loosen up! I could go grab one of Chris’s big wine thingies for us to have our way with,” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Yuuri waved the idea down.

 

The last thing he needed was more alcohol right before his performance. Bad things happened when he drank. The only reason he’d had anything was because he had been under the impression his performance would be the final day, so he could soothe his social awkwardness beforehand.

 

“There are _other_ ways we could work out your kinks,” Phichit said as he slid his hands up Yuuri’s flanks. “Like this?” he buried his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, making the God of Death jump and blush.

_“So, does Phichit hit on Yuuri every time they’re together? Because it seems like that’s all he does,” said Admetos._

_The old man leveled a look at him. “You haven’t seen how fantastically adorable the God of Death can be. And, yes.” The stranger cleared his throat loudly._

 

However, as soon as Phichit began to lavish attention on the sensitive clavicle, Yuuri broke and giggled, pushing Phichit away lightly – not to hurt his friend’s feelings, but that also wasn’t what Yuuri needed. Phichit’s sigh was long and deep enough to create dew on Yuuri’s neck. “You’re a hard one to crack Yuuri.” Yuuri could feel Phichit press one last kiss to his skin.

 

Phichit pulled away and fixed Yuuri with an intense gaze, as if he was trying to puzzle out the mysteries of the universe. The scrutiny lit a spotlight on Yuuri’s discomfort and, not for the last time, he wished he was somewhere else. It started to give Yuuri the feeling that Phichit was debating whether their friendship was worth the emotional strain Yuuri placed on it. However, after a moment deliberation, Phichit came to a conclusion. “Ok, I know exactly what will help calm your nerves,” he said with a wide smile, “here’s what you’re going to do-”

 

Yet even as the phrase was leaving Phichit’s lips, the final warning announcement for Yuuri to take the stage sounded through Olympus, Leo’s voice muffled as it reached them in their hidey-hole. “Ah no! Yuuri, we’ve gotta go.”

* * *

 

 

Under no amount of begging would the Lord of Love let Yuuri in on his plan while they ran to the stage, arriving just barely on time. The flighty, freckled god stood on stage, taking in large gulps of air. “Aw! We missed Guang-Hong’s ( _Zephyros)_ performance. He helped me a few years back and now he’s presenting that as his feat. It’s not often you get to spirit young lovers across oceans to defy their parents. He’s a fun kid to hang out with. I would let him blow me any day,” said Phichit without a ounce of modesty.

 

“Phichit?!” nearly shouted Yuuri as Phichit’s mirth increased.

 

“Dude, he’s the west wind; you know, part of the Anemoi, the Winds?” Phichit leaned in and whispered conspiratorially “He’s supposed to be the gentle one, but I have my suspicions on the behavior of Bedroom Guang-Hong. Besides, Leo might have a say in who Guang-Hong blows, if you catch my wind,” Phichit faked a scandalous look, which made Yuuri giggle.

 

The audience politely clapped for the young god’s performance, with the exception of Leo, who cheered so enthusiastically other gods gave him wide berth. The tips of Guang-Hong’s ears signaled his flaming blush as he skipped off to receive his deliberation. He gave Phichit a high-five as he ran past.

 

As he eyed the stage, Yuuri balked. “Phichit, if you have that magic plan to turn the stress dial down on the situation, now’s the time.”

 

Grinning like a Cheshire, Phichit leaned close in, and for a moment Yuuri thought Phichit was going to lay another kiss on him, but at the last second he turned his head to whisper in Yuuri’s ear. “Just picture Viktor naked. He’s got front row seats,” and before Yuuri could really process Phichit’s “plan,” the cheeky God of Love pushed his friend into the maw.

 

The wide stage yawned before Yuuri and he keenly felt the burden of his station. As he passed Muse Calliope, she nodded as she analyzed his emotional state and created a suitable piece of music. That was always the “fun and exciting” part of the performance, not knowing your music and dancing on the fly.

 

He strode to center stage, his twilight robes twinkling in the light. Just as Phichit said, Yuuri could see the gilded silver head just beyond the edge of the stage. And now that Phichit had inserted the idea into Yuuri’s head, he couldn’t help but imagine the God of Spring, stripped naked in garment and emotion, writhing sweaty beneath Yuuri. In his mind’s eye he explored the spaces between the two of them, finding new ways to connect with the young god.

 

His gaze was drawn magnetically to a pair of impossibly blue eyes. Eyes that stole into the secret places of Yuuri’s and laid bare his emotions, left nothing in their wake. It was a look that promised so much more, if Yuuri just reached out to grab it. If seconds could be stretched, Yuuri would have filled them with that look. But time has a way of moving forward regardless and Yuuri was yanked back to present when his feet were suddenly standing in a thin layer of sparkling water, drawn by Yuuri’s emotional state for the performance.

 

As a low, thready flute began to play a type of [dirge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWkfrHhpw4c), Yuuri dropped his shoulders back and rolled his head loosely. Of course he would pull up a quasi-march of the dead instead of the triumphant declaration he wanted. Yet even as the song conjured a funereal mood, the melody drew Yuuri into its dark embrace. His limbs moved of their own accord, restrained to match the enticing energy of the song.

 

Then, as the low, throbbing beat instituted itself, Yuuri exploded in a series of sharp jumps and antagonistic sweeps of his legs, almost hedonistic in their draw. With each movement, the water beneath his feet exaggerated the animalistic flow of Yuuri’s dance. The audience’s gaze, specifically a pair of gem-bright azure eyes, tracked him as he stalked leonine to the edge of the stage. The more Yuuri danced, the water began to take on the same low blue hue as shade lights and would follow, no, anticipate, his next jumps and twirls around the stage.

 

Soon the stage was painted with thousands of glowing droplets, a star-field drawn down from the heavens to share this moment with the Lord of the Underrealm. His gestures called some droplets close to him, cherishing them, while a simple wave of his hand harshly banished others away from his fingertips, flung into the far reaches. He played with the water, letting it slip between his toes and fingers, seep into his skin like a lover’s embrace – waters from the Acheron, _his_ Acheron, he smiled – and was rewarded when the water began to act as a partner on stage. A flash of Viktor’s silver hair caught Yuuri’s attention and his watery partner took on similar stature and characteristics, which pulled a joyful laugh from Yuuri’s lips.

 

And the dance felt _wonderful_. Everywhere he looked, stars were reflected in his eyes and the water-Viktor was always there to match his moves, stabilize him during spins, catch him after a long lunging jump. He wondered if this is what he’d been missing for all these years, holed up in his own head.

 

All too quickly, the song wound down and his dance partner stilled, watery hand on Yuuri’s cheek, and flowed back to its source, leaving the stage bare and dry. Yuuri’s eyes fluttered as he came back into his body, desperately drawing air into his lungs, the audience conspicuously silent.

 

A single pair of enthusiastic clapping hands, Yuuri couldn’t see from whom with the stage lights in his eyes, broke the spell and the entire audience collectively lost their shit. Taken aback by the wall of exuberant cries, Yuuri very nearly turned to leave the stage. Muse Calliope, dark hair shining, as she shook her head and shooed him to keep him on stage and accept the overwhelming response. The longer he stood bathed in the raucous cheers and gods shouting his name with a fervor, his confidence floated skyward. It wasn’t as good as Viktor’s performance, but at least he didn’t let Vicchan down, small victories. He could take that.

 

He gestured and Vicchan appeared next to him, doggy grins on each of his tiny heads, his tail going a mile a minute. The audience sighed and cooed at Vicchan. Yuuri beamed, this was definitely a good sign. “Gods and Goddesses of this esteemed pantheon-” was all Yuuri was able to get out before he heard a low ‘Boof’ from the front row. Makkachin leapt to the stage and full-out rushed toward Yuuri with an energy she hadn’t displayed during Viktor’s performance. The God of Spring belatedly reacted and started to run after his monstrous creature, but the ball had already started rolling.

 

Vicchan, ever the faithful guard dog, planted himself in front of his master and grew exponentially until he filled the hall, his three heads scraped the gilded ceiling. His fluffy puff tail transformed into a writhing snake and snakes sprouted like a wild mane around his heads. Yuuri goggled at his creation, his heart squeezed tightly in fear. He had no idea Vicchan could do that. When all three heads barked in warning, the sound split the air itself. The Gods In Attendance clapped their hands over bleeding ears. Cracks in the foundation of Olympus radiated from Vicchan. Issued from the snake heads, a blue fiery cyclone erupted around Vicchan and Yuuri. He tried time and again to calm Vicchan down and assure him Yuuri wasn’t in danger, but Vicchan simply wasn’t listening.

 

Viktor finally gained Makkachin and wrestled her back under control, gazing up in astonishment at the towering monstrous creature. The flames licked out toward Viktor and Makkachin leapt in front of them. All Yuuri heard over the booming bark of Vicchan was her pained yelp. Yuuri could see Viktor’s pained expression as he tried to shield Makkachin from the brunt of Vicchan’s attack and he could see the chunks being taken out of Viktor’s back and arms from Vicchan’s energy. Clinging to Vicchan’s enormous leg, Yuuri tried to shout down his dog again.

 

“ **I WILL HAVE SILENCE!** ” boomed Celestino’s energy-enhanced voice. As suddenly as the whole event started, a blanket of quiet dropped over the hall and Vicchan began to shrink back to his original size. All of the Gods In Attendance, including all of Yuuri’s siblings _and_ the Moirai stood, energy focused on containing Vicchan until his monstrous creature was subdued. Face flaming with guilt and shame, the aftermath wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination, _shit_. Most gods at least had blood streaming from their ears, but Viktor and Makkachin were already being carted off to see the God of Medicine, Yuuko _(Asclepius)_. It tore Yuuri to see them so injured.

 

“Yuuri. Come here. Now,” commanded Celestino, and while he and his siblings ruled their respective realms equally, Yuuri knew there was no going against Celestino.

 

All through the night and into the early hours of the morning, Yuuri faced a hastily convened tribunal of his peers. Yuuri noted the distinct lack of friendly faces in the tribunal. Minako was livid at the injuries Viktor sustained and called for Vicchan’s immediate execution. Celestino leaned toward banishment to the wastelands, while Mari merely stated he needed more training. The Fates kept their opinions to themselves, though Loop stared openly at the God of Death, which made Yuuri’s guts turn to stone as sure as he laid eyes on Medusa. The longer the deliberation went on and the more accusations flew about Yuuri’s relative incompetence in areas he shouldn’t have dabbled in, the more his hackles raised. Yes, he’d attempted something new for his skill-set, but at least he _tried_ something new, which was more than he could say about most of them. He openly dared them to have original thoughts in their heads, which, frankly, did not go over well in convincing them.

 

After explaining the series of events for seemingly the millionth time, he started to wonder why Makkachin was even able to gain the stage. Viktor surely would have his monstrous creature on some sort of leash to prevent such an occurrence. That she wasn’t leashed could only mean he intended to sabotage Yuuri’s feat, Yuuri determined. Why else didn’t Viktor immediately grab his monstrous creature before she instigated Vicchan. Now Viktor’s actions made sense. He’d somehow engineered the switching of the performance order, to throw Yuuri off-balance right off the bat. Throw in Viktor’s analysis of all things Yuuri, even down to his previous robes, and it all stewed darkly in Yuuri’s gut. Something cold and hard coiled deeply and set up residence in his heart.

 

“ **Execution,** ” shouted Minako. To which Celestino responded “ **Banishment.** ” Occasionally Lilia _(Hera)_ would throw in “ **Wipe all their memories and let the fates sort it out,** ” for good measure. Never one to agree with Celestino, Lilia was certain to oppose Celestino’s position and Yakov _(Boreas)_ backed her, as usual. The longer they argued over what punishment Vicchan was to suffer, the more incensed Yuuri became. His own power, filled with the cold, twisting energy of the Underworld, spiked as their cutting voices assaulted him. He tapped into that power conduit and he could feel his realm almost grinning maniacally as it finally had a focal point outside its borders. _That_ was when the world started to break apart.

_“Now remember, you’ve already heard this part, so no comments about that,” reminded the old man._

 

Below them, the land shook apart as quakes rolled across the countryside in waves. The power coiled darkly inside Yuuri and cracks, spilling with deep blue energy, split his porcelain skin. As if in empathy, fissures tore open the skin of Gaia below, swallowing man and beast alike, radiating from the entrance of Yuuri’s Underworld. Yuuri, limned in blinding light, his fought to control the power snaking just below his skin, but the longer he fought it, the more he found he didn’t want to. Wouldn’t it be better to watch everything burn as they had been burning him all this time. The dark thoughts swirled within Yuuri as the earth crumbled.

 

It was then that the Moirai finally stood as one and abruptly cut Yuuri off from his power. Axel, in appearance she looked all of six-years-old, her pigtails secured with royal purple, said, “Lord of the Unseen-”

 

“-We have made our deliberation-” continued Lutz, her lithe teenaged figure striking in comparison to Axel. Blue tightly contained her bun.

 

“-And found your Monstrous Creature Vicchan will be sentenced to death,” completed Loop, low ponytail swept together in pink, the oldest in the guise of a young woman just in the fullness of her youth. He stood gaping at the sudden lack of energy. He felt deflated and his heart sank at the proclamation. There was no way he would be able to overcome the Moirai.

 

“-Unless-” said Axel. Here it was, their bargain. Yuuri steeled himself for the price. Anything to keep Vicchan safe, _please anything._

 

“-You willingly forfeit-” Lutz added.

 

“Your immortality,” dropped Loop, her gaze iron cold.

 

Yuuri squeezed his eyes tightly and a tear escaped the corner as he sharply nodded his head once, sealing his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  And for those who are keeping track of my ever-growing pantheon:  
> Yuuri (Hades)  
> Viktor (Persephone)  
> Mila (Charon)  
> Phichit (Eros)  
> Chris (Dionysis)  
> Celestino (Zeus)  
> Vicchan (Cerberus)  
> Sueng-Gil (Hephaestus)  
> Michele’s (Apollo)  
> Emil (Aphrodite)  
> Mari (Poseidon)  
> Yurio (Artemis)  
> JJ (Narcissus)  
> Axel (Clotho)  
> Lutz (Lachesis)  
> Loop (Atropos)  
> Minako (Demeter)  
> Makkachin (Chimera)  
> Leo’s (Iris)  
> Guang-Hong (Zephyros)  
> Lilia (Hera)  
> Yakov (Boreas)  
> If you ever get curious about the less well known gods I’m referencing (because they’re pretty obscure at times, go classical studies minor!) here are some useful links I’ve been using to refresh my memory from my university days the [Theoi](http://www.theoi.com/), [GreekMythology.com](http://www.greekmyths-greekmythology.com/) and [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_mythology)  
>   
> Music used in this chapter:  
> Happy coincidence that the best version of this song that I’d planned to use for Viktor even when I was planning this happens to be Renee Fleming, who was featured in Reiya’s original work. I DID NOT PLAN THIS SHIT, IT HAPPENS.  
> Frederick Handel (Semele HWV58) [Endless Pleasure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbCnqoxmyCE) performed by Renee Fleming  
>   
> Florence + the Machine [Leave My Body](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWkfrHhpw4c)  
>   
> Inspiration for Yuuri’s [dance](https://www.daletravers.com/blog/?p=3197)  
> And because I can’t draw people worth anything, I’d love to see any artwork of Yuuri in his dance.  
> My [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fiorelilyicecastle) doesn’t have much, but I’m posting character descriptions. Maybe if I’m brave enough to try drawing, I’ll try my hand at Yuuri in his robes.  
>   
> And because I'm a glutton for punishment, I did a little vicchan painting that I posted on my tumblr. 
> 
> [Here ](https://fiorelilyicecastle.tumblr.com/post/160234422015/my-crappy-take-on-vicchan-as-cerberus-from-my) he is!


	4. Cause I fell on black days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri deals (or not, as the case may be) with becoming human, including all the human stuff he hasn't had to think about up until now (what, you think gods use the toilet??) But recurring dreams of a curiously racy nature start plaguing him. They probably mean something, but then Georgi and Anya butt into his tiny slice of idyllic life just when he thinks he has things figured out. Or, the issues of being a former child mod- er, God of Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am adding the "Minor character death" tag, *points above* You knew this was about the God of Death, right? I'll come out and say it's not any gods or anything like that. Of course there's some death by necessity, but since luckily Yuuri happens to be said God of Death, no one's really gone in this story. I'll also direct you to the "Angst with a happy ending" and "Angst and Fluff" tags. 
> 
> And introducing a new storyteller! I hope it's not too confusing, but I'm enjoying how the different storytellers interact with the students and the story itself. Bonus points if you can figure out who each storyteller is...
> 
> Title is for the wonderful Chris Cornell who left us too early today.
> 
> **Possible trigger warning for a tiny description of nearly drowning. If that is a trigger, skip the very last paragraph.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!

Stunned silence ruled and the fire reflected in the eyes of the students. The old man’s gaze quickened as he studied the minute reactions from the young men. Confusion transitioned into disbelief filtered through their faces. The old man gave them time to process.

 

“He- he gave up his immortality?” whispered Iokaste, his voice cracking slightly into a higher vocal range. “What does that even mean?”

 

Drawing himself inward, a protective move, the stranger’s gaze fell to rest in the crackling embers. It was as if he wanted to burn the events from history, his eyes were obsidian bright and flashed in the low light cast from the flames.

 

“Stripped of godhood, ripped from the fabric that knitted the pantheon together. Yuuri was no longer a god.” he said before he took a large shuddering breath. “The motivations of the Moirai are unknown, but their actions – and the actions of our protagonist, for Yuuri chose his fate – were swift and implacable.”

 

Admetos shook his head. “How can that be possible? For the god of the underworld to no longer be a god? What became of the realm of the dead, or Tartarus, without Yuuri to rule them?”

 

The old man hummed to himself, giving careful consideration to his reply, but before he could form an answer, yet another stranger merely appeared behind the group of young men.

 

Garbed in a fine robe the heady color of wine, the new stranger projected an affable confidence. “Oh I can answer that!” he jumped in, his hazel eyes danced with barely contained enjoyment. At his statement, the young men all jumped from their skins, so engrossed in the story. Surely that must have been the reason they didn’t hear his approach.

 

The old man sucked his teeth at the appearance of this new stranger. “And ruin the story? Have you no appreciation for building anticipation, for the art of storytelling?” he stared at the new stranger, recognition gleamed hard in his eyes. “For what reason are you here?”

 

“You have tarried and your lack of presence for your duty was noted,” the stranger shrugged “You know, the thing with the thing. Professional courtesy and all.”

 

The old man huffed in impatience and swore under his breath as the hazel-eyed stranger stepped alongside the old man to haul him to his feet by his bicep. Iokaste cried out at the manhandling of the storyteller, but a pointed glance from the storyteller told the young buck to sit down and shut up, and so he did.

 

When the new stranger leaned in to whisper something in the old man’s ear, hair that they thought was dark when viewed from seated on the ground flashed like golden wheat on a far-off hillside. Admetos idly wondered how someone’s hair grew in different colors like that, but the more he thought about it, the harder it was to keep details about the new stranger in his mind. After further consideration, acceptance of the fact became easier than anything to the contrary.

 

The whispered conversation, animated and furious, with the old man gesturing to the group of students often, culminated with the new stranger tossing a glance at the group and a muttered “Sleep.”

 

A frenzied muttering brought the group to wakefulness surely as the morning, which was still some time off. Pheres was huddled rocking himself as words like “consequences,” “falsehoods” and “forgiveness” slipped past his fevered lips. Woken early and already stressed at the numerous setbacks to their pilgrimage, the rest of the group threatened to leave the raving Pheres behind. However, with Admetos there to steer the madly giggling youth, they managed strip some leagues off their journey.

 

For so many days of stuttered-mileage, the long day wore them all out and a warm farmhouse with an equally warm owner willing to share some food and hay to sleep with his sheep were all fortuitous boons to their bedraggled group.

 

Bellies full of a hearty lamb stew, the lads settled around their fire and waited expectantly for the old man to show up. However, perhaps when all of them were looking away from the fire – at the same time – the new stranger appeared in its glow, his hazel eyes held mischief. He held his hands up to belay any questions.

 

“Well well, this _is_ your lucky day! While your regularly scheduled narrator takes care of some business, _I_ am to guide you through this saucy tale,” he said.

 

Undone by all the upheaval in the past few days Admetos opened his mouth to interrogate this new stranger, but before the words could leave his lips, the stranger cut off his thoughts. “You may be tempted to ask questions about where my friend, your narrator, is,” the stranger said with a hand on his hip, “But I _strongly_ encourage you to hold your questions until I am finished the tale for this evening.” The stranger eyed the group as he unrolled the scroll and scanned through the next chapter with a grin. “Huh, is _that_ what happened, never knew. No wonder,” he said mostly to himself. As the stranger began to pace and read with a lilting accent – perhaps of the Gauls, absently wondered Admetos – the students attention focused more on the story, less on the reader.

* * *

 

Woody spice lingered in the air as Yuuri groaned and turned over in his near-wakefulness. For some reason his body felt significantly heavier, weighted down. His heart even felt like it was working harder than usual. He scrunched up at these strange feelings. Why did everything feel…wrong? His hand stretched out and brushed a patch of prickly things, the sensation too real and too insistent, jarred Yuuri into full attention. Patches of stars peeked through the branches of a cypress tree, winking at Yuuri. Dew covered his body and he shivered at the damp coolness. He closed his hand over the needles surrounding him and brought them to his nose to smell their earthy spice. Sap from the needles stuck to his skin as he crushed them in his grip. Shades often would step into his halls smelling faintly of cypress as they passed his throne for placement, their boughs masked the stench of decay.

 

 _His throne_ , he thought. His smile was wry as it all came crashing back; the banquet, the dance, the-. The trial. He swallowed around a lump forming in his throat. The Moirai. The bargain he made. Ah, that’s why everything felt changed. He was human now. Fallen further than any of his siblings in any of their foolish conquests. He gasped as his heart clenched in his chest, a painful reminder that mortal blood ran through it, and could easily be drained from his body. All Viktor’s fault, his heart coldly reminded him. Were it not for his monstrous creature, he wouldn’t be stuck here – wherever here was.

 

He sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face, and great, now he had sap on his face, he grimaced wryly. At least they’d spared Vicchan – in Mila’s care – if only for the fact that she would need help since he wasn’t in his realm. _He wasn’t in his realm._ The thought punched him and made him shudder through every fiber of his body. His throat threatened to close entirely, his breath thready, which made his head feel too light for the rest of his body. To be stripped of his immortality and cast down into the mud and the dirt, to feel the dust under his feet, irritating as it worked its way into crevices he didn’t even know he had, it threatened to drag him under. Salty tears welled up with his emotions and poured out unbidden.

 

He must have sat there in a catatonic state for hours, his tears long dried, only because he ran out of them, because it was nearly dawn when someone gently tapped him on the shoulder. A woman, nicely plump in ways that made it look like she’d be wonderful at giving hugs, kneeled next to him, her short brown hair brushed her shoulders. When his gaze met hers, she gave him a smile that could have disarmed the most hardened warriors. Yuuri’s smile was thin and wan, but for some reason he could no more throw his frustration and disappointment at her than he could trample an innocent child. She took his hand and Yuuri felt such reassurance that he returned her grip as she pulled him to hit unsteady feet.

 

“You came seeking restoration,” she stated simply and began to lead him away.

 

Her declaration took Yuuri by surprise and he faltered. “How-” he began.

 

She reinstated her grip and continued to lead him with the same acceptance he often felt with Vicchan. “Those who come to our temple are searching for something. That’s what I see in your eyes,” she briefly brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. “Come now.” And he found he could not resist.

 

Most of his siblings temples were overblown, ostentatious marks on the land that conveyed the power ascribed to that god. Garlands of wheat ready for harvest and orchards heavy with ripe fruit bore continually in Minako’s temples, while Chris’s temples always featured cisterns of wine large enough to bathe Cyclopes. As to be expected, Chris’s temples were extremely popular.

_“Well of course they are! A man who denies himself wine is denying himself one of the world’s greatest pleasures,” said the stranger as he took a long pull on a hip flask of strange metal. When Admetos showed interest in the vessel, the stranger grimaced guiltily before stashing it hastily away._

 

Yuuri’s own temple – _former temple_ , he reminded himself with a worry line creasing his forehead– was a small affair tucked on the edge of humanity where hermits of dubious sanity and the occasional ostracized social pariah stumbled on it; two steps from falling into obscurity.

 

So when Yuuri took in the burbling hot spring, waters steaming around low, rocky pools obscured from wandering eyes with conveniently grown stands of bushy grasses, Yuuri realized he was a guest of Mari’s only land-based temple – her other temples unreachable except for the coquettish Psirens of Atlantis.

_“No wonder they couldn’t find him, that temple’s way off the beaten path,” muttered the stranger almost outside of hearing. “His little Psychopomp was beside herself.” He took another quick nip from the hip flask before returning to the story._

 

Last he’d heard, access to this temple was blocked by a pair of monstrous creatures that made the way all but impassible; something about Celestino’s brash assertion that if humans _really_ wanted to reach her temple, they would beat the monsters back.

 

She must have engineered it so he would wake on this particular island, far from the pressures of his impending humanity. Fondness for his sister warmed his chest only to be quickly chased with a flicker of doubt. Was she his sister now that he was human? Can a human be a sibling to a god? They’d never be able to stand together in Olympus on equal footing; not that he ever felt her equal.

 

“Mari-” Yuuri started, but his throat closed over yet unshed tears that brightened his eyes.

 

The woman; Yuuri realized he didn’t even know her name; turned with a serene smile when his footsteps faltered. “My! You’re already familiar with the Sea Goddesses’ favored name. I knew you turned up on our shores for a reason. Toshiya! The divine Mari sent us a new follower! Oh this is a day to celebrate,” the woman called into a simply-appointed wooden home. “Toshiya where are you?”

 

She jogged excitedly in the front door of the home. A second later a kind face, heavily lined with too many smiles, poked through one of the windows. “Eh? What’re ya going on about? We don’t get other people, let alone followers out here, it’s why we-” the man named Toshiya cut himself off as he gawked at Yuuri. “Mari be praised,” Toshiya trailed off while he reached his hand out of sight. Cool droplets of water dripped from Toshiya’s fingers as he anointed himself in reverence.

 

Yuuri fidgeted as he noticed the man squint as his eyes darted all over Yuuri, taking in his strong back, limber legs, nimble hands, back to Yuuri’s clear eyes. He wasn’t sure what the human protocol was in situations like this, so he sweated out the scrutiny as he toed the ground. The sap stuck lightly when he nervously pressed his hands to his thighs. The thought about making his own way as a human terrified him. No powers to summon food, clean his robes, fetch his books, or even turn out the lights, that one was going to be annoying. He wondered if he should bow in introduction or beg their mercy to allow him to stay with them. If they denied him, he’d be lost. The thought turned his stomach, clenching sourly.

 

“Yep, you’ll do,” stated Toshiya simply as he broke into a wide smile. Hiroko joined her partner at the window and anointed herself with a gentle visage. And with that, Yuuri was a part of their family.

_Admetos thought he noted a strangely envious look as the stranger read the last part. “Does something trouble you, storyteller?” he asked._

_The question caused the stranger to flinch as his hazel eyes hardened momentarily, then softened around the edges, as if he didn’t know his own emotions. “Hm? No? It’s just Yuuri found acceptance so easily. Some of us still search for that belonging.” He trailed off, his expression curtailed any follow-up questions as he tipped back his flask, seemingly drained for the volume it should hold, then tipped it back upright for a moment only to take yet another long pull from it. “Yuuri didn’t know how good he had it,” he muttered._

* * *

 

True to Toshiya’s visual assessment, Yuuri proved invaluable immediately, the older man’s back often groaned like trees in the wind. There seemed to be no end to the mundane repairs to the crumbling temple. Yuuri was glad he at least kept his Olympian physique; not that he would be caught bench-pressing temple columns anytime soon; he wasn’t a muscle-bound hero like Perseus, but it was nice to be able to help his hosts. Just that first day he’d already righted a listing column, chopped enough firewood for the next six months, planted rows of celery and six new pine trees – to please Mari, informed Hiroko – and even figured out a better irrigation system for Hiroko’s modest vegetable garden.

_The stranger snorted lightly. “Celery? That’s your preferred plant Mari?” he shook his head_

 

Down in the underworld, he’d lived a relatively relaxed life with everything provided for him. Here, he saw how hard humans worked just to eek out their daily existence. His own body ached with the day’s labors and yet Toshiya kept pace with him, albeit with more groans and a wheezy lung that concerned Yuuri to hear it. Hiroko fussed over her partner as he grumbled about this pain and that niggling headache. Busy with her own duties as head priestess at the temple, she always made time to be there with a cool drink of water for either of them, making sure they wanted for nothing. The warm smiles, small touches and affectionate gestures they gave each other warmed Yuuri, made him yearn for something that he couldn’t quite articulate.

 

Midday Hiroko provided a simple, yet intensely satisfying lunch of grilled herbed celery and leftover lamb shank. Though Yuuri had eaten the ambrosia of the gods, in that moment, and perhaps the work made it that much sweeter, he wouldn’t have traded that meal for anything.

 

Except perhaps his immortality returned. Reminded of all he lost in the previous day, the food turned to ash in his mouth. Would Vicchan be okay without his guidance? What about the shades he protected and watched over? Would Mila be able to ensure they were placed with deceased family – not that shades remembered anything let alone their family, but Yuuri liked the idea that they would be reunited in the underworld anyways. His mouth pressed into a thin line to keep his churning stomach at bay.

 

And what about him? He was doomed to live as a human. To die human. To scratch a meager existence on the skin of Gaia. Would he even be able to make it on his own? Hiroko’s food, delicious as it was, made him realize he didn’t know how to even _cook_ anything. Was he supposed to live on the backs of these two humans, as wonderful as they are? Relegated to a childlike state, sucking their marrow out as he figured out how to live as a human; that stuck in his throat. Some elder god he is- _was,_ he bitterly reminded himself _._

 

As his thoughts stilled him most unnaturally, he noticed Hiroko and Toshiya giving him questioning looks. He gulped, the rest of the food in his stomach flipped over, leaden, he hadn't meant to worry them. “I- I need to go visit the woods!” he nearly shouted at them. Great, only a child announces when they need to pee. He was already fulfilling that particular prophesy. Face flushed with embarrassment, he fled into the nearby woods. It was an excuse, he knew, but staying near them was only serving as reminder to how human he was right now.

 

He rushed headlong into the forest, uncaring of the shocked expressions on his host’s faces, ignored their calls after him. Trees everywhere pressed in on him, crowding him in. The smell of green growing things insisted itself upon his overwhelmed senses. The cypress and pine needles carpeting the forest floor crunched under his footfalls, perfuming the area sharp and resinous.

 

Thinking of the first god who may provide him some help, Yuuri cried for relief. “Phichit! Phichit where are you? I need- Can’t you hear me?” Yuuri cried, desperation making him foolish in the thought that his friend would come to rescue him, that he’d miraculously be able to unwind his fate. He ran like death was just a breath behind him, could touch him with ease. He had, what, 50 years; 60 if he was lucky, before this mortal body crumbled and sank back into the earth’s skin. Time, which had been something fanciful that gods played with in order to keep themselves from boredom, now hounded him threatening to trip him up and fall into those pits of nothingness Mila joked about.

 

He didn’t trip over time, but a tree root does the same trick just as well. Yuuri went down with no time to brace for the fall. A very unthoughtful stone decided to greet his temple in an appropriately rude manner. The sharp tang of pain stole his breath from him and the world exploded into stars. Now he knew how the shades felt when they passed on their fear of pain to his robes. _Stars_ it hurt, thinking hurt, his arms hurt, legs, knees, even his stomach, jabbed with a stray branch, hurt. No wonder living creatures tried to avoid injury as often as possible.

 

He tried to orient himself, but the world swam before his eyes and focusing on anything made his head hurt even more. Was that flash of bright silver in the distance? No that can’t be it, Yuuri reasoned with himself, silver was too precious a metal to see outside of Olympus, so why would he find it here, on an isolated island far from the realm of the gods? He must have his imagined it, either that or one of his siblings cared enough about him to see how far he’d fallen. The wry laugh that escaped his lips multiplied his pain and for once Yuuri agreed with his body: blacking out _does_ seem like a good idea. A low ‘Boof’ was the last thing Yuuri heard before sweet oblivion spirited him away from his panic and pain.

* * *

 

Sweet vanilla, citrusy bergamot and the tang of pomegranate filtered through the air as Yuuri stopped to take note of his surroundings. Deepest indigo, dark as the night on a new moon, surrounded him. Yet he didn’t feel suffocated by the lack of information, rather, freedom was the first emotion that floated to the surface. He had a blank slate all around him, like he could choose any pathway. As if summoned, a softly glowing blue path pooled at his feet and flowed into the distance, enticing him. He could hear filtered whispering in a bell-like voice from far off, not clear enough for him to parse words.

 

The trail dipped and rose, followed a geography unknown to Yuuri, yet his feet kept secure on the blue line, almost as if his body knew exactly where it needed to go. Occasionally something unseen would brush at his cheek, twine with his fingers, or tickle the back of his neck. Far from being disturbed at the fondling, the mystery caresses were playful in nature and Yuuri’s eyes crinkled as a small laugh escaped. A fork appeared and Yuuri stopped for a moment to consider his options. The routes seemed identical on initial inspection, but his nose informed him that the heady scent he noticed earlier curved to the right. The nose knows and gradually the whispering increased, now with several distinct individual timbres, though no less incomprehensible. The caresses grew more bold as well and several times Yuuri felt generous fondling on his ass and thighs, heat curled within the fallen god and he found himself slowing down; after all, he needed to analyze where these phantom caresses were coming from, didn’t he?

 

As the whispering crescendoed, he gained a final rise on an unseen hillock and a gently pulsing blue pool opened before him. Not a pool, a spring, he realized as water burbled up in the center. The whispering seemed to bubble up from the spring itself. Whispers slid past him, trilled up his arms and plucked at his raven bangs, ruffling them. Such affection and love did he feel in that moment, he wished he could immerse himself in everything the whispers seemed to promise. Gem bright, the water and the whispers called to him, entranced him. Just as he nearly dipped his toe in those enticing perfumed waters, he was ripped back into reality.

_“Like calls to like waters of one are waters of all broken pathways and drowned dreams so says the clouds and the ground beneath our feet crumbles,” Pheres rattled off in one breath, breaking the scene to everyone’s groans. The storyteller’s frown was swift as his response as he stood to tip a small sip from his flask into Pheres’ mouth, which did the job of calming him down. When Admetos opened his mouth to exclaim, the stranger shushed him with a fierce look._

_“All we can do is take in what he prophesies. To stop him is to break him. My companion and I can calm him though, ensure he does no harm to his own,” he explained. “So I implore you to not interfere.” Admetos fidgeted, but nodded in agreement._

* * *

 

Hiroko was nearly beside herself as she shook Yuuri to wakefulness. The sun, nearly set, painted her and Toshiya with worry. He expected his head to ring with pain, yet nothing came and when he felt where he smacked his head, there were no lumps or blood. The perfume from his dream lingered in the air and Yuuri noticed a pair of bergamot bushes were growing right beside his head, their blossoms full with dew even though it was well past the season for flowering. Toshiya poked at the ground beside the plants, it looked newly pushed up, like the plant had erupted fully-grown. Had one of his siblings intervened?

 

He allowed Hiroko to fuss over him all the way back to the temple.

_“Interesting he let her do that, Yuuri’s known for disliking attention,” commented the stranger._

 

Even though it was well past supper time, Hiroko made Yuuri an extra-large helping of a curiously breaded pork meal with boiled rice that Yuuri devoured exclaiming it to be the food of the gods, and he meant it. Finally sated, he tapped his full belly gratefully. Affection for these humans, people who took him in without any hesitation or thought to their own meager circumstances, swelled in his chest. “I truly want to thank you for the hospitality you have shown me,” he said, fiddling with the hem of his robes, “You’ve shown me the truest depth of humanity, opened your home and your hearth to me without concern as to my character or intention. But I won’t burden you any longer than necessary.”

 

Toshiya frowned and shook his head. “Nope, I don’t know what your plans are, but there’s no need ta be runnin’ off like that! Mari knows it scared us half to death!”

 

Hiroko agreed. “We’re more than happy to have you at our temple. Please, stay as long as you need to find what you need,” she said, then blushed. “Toshiya and I have prayed at Viktor’s temple’s often for a child, but…” she trailed off.

 

Toshiya cleared his throat as he caught a tell-tale shine in Hiroko’s eyes. “In any case, you’re family now, so we’ll always be here for you,” finished Toshiya.

 

Such warmth suffused Yuuri. He tried to bow to them, but his back stuck like a steel rod, he physically couldn’t bow to them; gods can’t bow to humans. A holdover? Embarrassed, he gave them a beaming smile, which they returned with as much gusto.

* * *

 

That night he dreamed of that same blue path again, waking at the same exact moment as before. His curiosity burned at the invisible strokes and pinches, at the whispers that tantalized while they tinkled with laughter. Curiosity at what would happen should he gain the spring kept sleep at bay the remaining few hours of the night. Mostly comatose, his repairs the next day were always two thoughts away from the blue spring. And the enticing scent of his dream seemed to waft at inopportune moments to steal his concentration, once while he was hefting a fallen pine back upright. He nearly squashed Toshiya with that, which nearly stopped Yuuri’s heart, and Yuuri tried to block the scent from his mind from that point on.

 

As the sun dipped below the horizon Yuuri spotted a small sailing vessel adrift just off the north shore. He and Toshiya rushed to an overlooking bluff to find a battered trading ship listing, its sail ripped to shreds and oars were broken and shattered. Toshiya apparently had seen many ships run through the gauntlet of Scylla and Charybdis like this one and had no hope for survivors, yet as Yuuri stared in the waning light, he saw movement in the boat and a wail threaded over the water. Immediately, he dove from the bluff with the cries of Toshiya chasing him down to the water. It was a lot farther to said water than he thought; he even had time to consider if any rocks were lurking just below the surface. _Please Mari,_ _let me do this,_ he thought. A large wave met him high into his dive, softened his entry and swept him shockingly close to the vessel.

 

Once alongside the ship, he realized how high it was sitting in the water, he could inspect barnacles and other creatures normally underwater on ships hulls. As he wondered how he was going to get aboard, the rail a good five measures above his head, a rope was tossed over the side and Yuuri hauled himself over the edge. He was hit with the stench of rotting seaweed and moldy bread as soon as he hit the deck. He kneeled, shaking and breathing hard, not quite believing what he just did. What if he had smashed himself on the rocks, or drowned in the cool Mediterranean waters? He’d forgotten his mortality and the quick breath of life that can be snuffed in an instant hovered like a phantasm in his mind. But before he could drown in panic – not water – a young man wept in happiness before he latched onto Yuuri. Yuuri froze, his mind not processing who or why this human was now attached to him like the barnacles on the hull. Heh, suckers.

 

“Oh thank the gods you’ve come to save us! See Anya _(Eurydice),_ the gods did listen to my plea for help! Hades didn’t come to take us both to the underworld in this wreck of a ship, pulled down to the depths by Poseidon’s psirens,” the man’s over-the-top histrionics distracted Yuuri in his sucker-like predicament, though a dry laugh escaped his mouth, how little did this human know who he was embracing. “I knew stuffing my ears, valiantly turning away from their calls would work! If only I’d had my mother’s lyre, the rest of the crew wouldn’t have…” choked out the young man. Yuuri quickly extricated himself from his powerful hug and took in the young couple.

 

The man’s dark-haired quiff mussed in the sea breeze as the young man teared up in the face of his savior, he threw himself in supplication onto the deck and wailed in relief. The woman, wavy dark hair all a-tangle, a full-on pout on her lips, stared him down over the man’s back. Her gaze was halfway between outright disgust and overwhelmingly threatening and Yuuri couldn’t easily reconcile the two opposing emotions rolling off them.

 

She drew herself up with a hitch in her knees and a heavy breath, Anya turned on her shipmate, or was it lover? Yuuri couldn’t quite tell. “Well if you hadn’t taken us on this fool mission, Georgi _(Orpheus),_ then we wouldn’t have been stranded on open water with no crew! No mystical spring of Poseidon will change my fate,” she said, her face a grimace and Yuuri noticed her hands were trembling.

 

Toshiya’s shout carried from the bluff, interrupting the lovers. Yuuri’s heart constricted when he realized how the elderly man may have felt watching him leap off a literal cliff into the sea, filled with dangers numerous. How could he have been so callous to his hosts who took him in and called him family. Consequence and effect was something his siblings often didn’t consider – especially Celestino and his raging hormones – and he _should_ be better than that, letting logic and cool rational thought rule his actions, but apparently not. Go him.

 

“We’re okay. There’s,” Yuuri turned to double check they were the only ones in the ship, “three of us. Do you have a way to get us off the ship?”

 

Toshiya’s reply was almost carried away by the wind, but Yuuri caught it nonetheless. “Not until morning.” A chilly night on an open boat, no shelter. That smelled like an ungodly moldy version of Tartarus. With a couple of strangers. One seemed to think him a god, little g. The other wanted to kill him, or punch him, maybe? At that moment lightning cracked in the distance and rain began to steadily fall. Yuuri threw a deadpan look at the sky as if to say “ _Really?”_ to his sibling whom he imagined was cackling at his circumstance right now.

 

Already sopped to the bone, Yuuri shivered as he quickly pulled some of the shredded sail down for a makeshift shelter. Anya threw Georgi a withering look as if to say “see, that’s how you man up” before she settled creakily down to sleep out the night, only getting mostly soaked. Georgi fidgeted for a few moments, seemingly unsure of whether he should join her or not before he finally cuddled up to her. She slid away.

 

If bickering was their state of being, Yuuri wondered why they were together in the first place. Surely there was someone more suited for the both of them. But Georgi, even with tears in his eyes as he tried to shuffle closer to Anya, had such a look of adoration that Yuuri never doubted his affection for the cold woman.

 

Despite the thunderous lightning, the constant rain and the water slapping the hull of the boat managed to lull Yuuri to sleep. As he blearily blinked for the last moment before sleep took him, he wondered if it was because all the heroics wore him out.

* * *

 

Blue whispers and soft touches greeted him as the previous nights. Yuuri practically ran along the pathway, eager to reach the spring. If he ran, he should have more time at the spring before he woke, right? It wasn’t until he reached the final hill that he realized he was not alone.

 

Yuuri almost missed seeing the hand that caressed his cheek, so velvety indigo was the figure beside him. Yuuri squinted to try and make out any details of the figure who had shared Yuuri’s more intimate moments of his life – not for Phichit’s lack of trying. Taller, and broader in the shoulder. Though anything more than that melted in with the deep blue surroundings of the dream. When Yuuri’s steps faltered, the figure turned – rather Yuuri thought they turned, it was so hard to tell – and took his hand up. Their fingers twined, luminously pale and plush indigo. As he studied their hands, he was struck by how his own fingers looked so ethereal and delicate beside the strong deep blue hands, like they complimented each other’s attributes. The figure pulled Yuuri’s hand up to place a gentle velvety kiss to his fingers. It tickled as a delicious warmth spread through the fallen god. Yuuri laughed as he was pulled along a merry path to the summit and the figure squeezed his hand gently, as if to reassure Yuuri that he was safe in their hands.

 

The spring burbled as before, yet when the figure stepped into the bowl of its waters, the surface shivered as if it thrilled at the intrusion. Yuuri also shivered with a frisson of excitement as the figure turned to pull Yuuri toward the waters. Ah to see what the spring will do to Yuuri once he felt the water’s cool touch, Yuuri had a feeling the mystery of the figure would be revealed too. His heart couldn’t wait. Other, more erogenous regions of his body fully agreed.

_“My my Yuuri, so ready for something to happen,” the stranger chuckled. Another large gulp was deleted from his hip flask and the students noticed the sweet aroma of wine. When Iokaste asked for a sip like Pheres, the stranger shook his head. “This stuff will fuck you boys up. And I don’t water down my wine, ruins the flavor. Next vintage maybe.”_

 

The shrill scream yanked him back from the edge of the water, from his dream and the indigo figure. Georgi and Anya sat on opposite sides of the deck, a handprint clear on Georgi’s cheek, Anya flushed with anger.

 

“You dared try to touch me, kiss me while I slept? We are not yet married and I will not have my maidenhood taken before I am ready!” she screamed at the flinching Georgi. Though he begged and apologized the rest of the night, she was not to be assuaged. Even when Toshiya met them to ferry them to the shore, her indignant anger burned bright.

 

It turned out the couple had made the perilous journey to Mari’s temple in hopes for a cure for Anya’s wasting sickness. She and Georgi were engaged to be married, but because Anya was in poor health, her father-king was reluctant to hand her off to Georgi, whom, if Yuuri was to believe Phichit’s gossip, might be the illegitimate son of Calliope and some no-name human. Their arduous journey and subsequent rescue so moved was the quiffed young man that he regaled them with a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7mnNdkhciQ) speaking to living life to its fullest, proclaimed his undying love for his fiancée. Though he had no instruments to enhance his vocals, true to Calliope’s talent, Georgi wove such a scene as to incite their imaginations, as if they were running toward the pinnacle of all their hopes and dreams, only needing to keep going regardless of obstacles thrown their way.

 

Anya’s expression was taciturn and pouted, but even she was ensnared by the voice only a god could create, such was the power of Georgi’s talent. Yuuri was surprised when her fiery anger turned to fierce adoration during the serenade. And Georgi returned her affection in spades. Though when the song ended, her emotions ran cold once more, moodily demanding Georgi fetch her food or carry her to the hot springs for “restorative purposes” she said.

 

How could these two people expect to be married? She seemed strong-willed enough to not accept a forced marriage, so she must have some reason for the union. And Georgi acted like she were Midas’s own hands. Having read so much about human behavior, he thought himself expert on the human condition, yet here was a dichotomy that puzzled him. Hiroko and Toshiya’s steady love was like a fire burned low to the ground, still hot enough to warm a home and could be stoked at times. Whereas Georgi and Anya’s love was like a firestorm, out of control and ready to burn everything to the ground. Yuuri wasn’t sure which was better, if any.

_“Ah the many facets of love, such a maddening emotion to puzzle out. Only Yuuri would try to collate and quantify as complex an emotion such as that. Well and Seung-gil,” chuckled the storyteller, his hazel eyes danced in delight._

 

As he helped Toshiya with fixing up some beds for the newcomers, Yuuri pondered what it would be like to have someone’s attention like Georgi gave Anya. Always by her side, he only left her while she bathed in the hot springs that smelled of rotten eggs. While she did appear frail, she spent much of her time in the heated waters. Often Hiroko would check on her to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep, which carried its own dangers, Yuuri supposed. He still hadn’t used the springs as it reminded him of his increasingly erotic dreams filled with the glowing blue water and the mysterious figure.

 

After a few days, Georgi relaxed enough to allow Anya to bathe without him hovering near the privacy screen. Yuuri was turning the land over on a new garden patch for Hiroko when he heard Anya give a deathly pitched scream close to his location; strangely nowhere near the hot springs. A cold sweat broke out over him as he rushed to the scene. His feet froze as he saw Makkachin, her asp tail latched onto Anya’s ankle; and Viktor, his silver hair catching in the late sunlight, also frozen in a gesture that looked like he was directing his monstrous creature.

_“Wait, what?” cried Iokaste. “Why did Viktor kill Anya? He’s not the fates. That’s not his job! He brings life to the land!”_

_The stranger’s eyes flashed dangerously in the firelight. “I’d watch what you say about things you don’t know. As my fellow storyteller will say, ‘all will be revealed in due time’ so settle down and keep your comments to yourself.” The stranger sighed with all his body. “Also, Viktor didn’t strictly kill Anya; Makkachin did. Get your facts straight before you go off half-cocked.”_

 

Red colored Yuuri’s vision as the god who threw him into this entire predicament in the first place had stepped in to harm one of his new friends. “It’s you!” shouted Yuuri. “Why is it always you!” Makkachin turned to gallop off. Viktor opened his mouth, but seeing Yuuri’s rage, let the words die in his throat before he fled after his monstrous creature. Georgi burst in and rushed to cradle Anya’s wilting form. In a flash, Yuuri was pursuing the silver-headed god. What, was Viktor not content that he had already destroyed Yuuri’s life, he had to destroy Anya’s as well? And poor Georgi having to let go of the person he cared for over all others! Stupid Viktor, letting his monstrous creature attack weakened humans? How dare he!

 

For all Yuuri’s indignant rage propelling him, the God of Spring proved faster than Yuuri’s human stamina could take. Bitter defeat hung heavy around his neck as he returned to find Anya had already passed into the Underworld. Georgi was inconsolable and Yuuri seethed at his lack of godly powers to change her fate, to bring the two lovers back together again. Afterall, it was by godly hands she was taken, it should be by godly hands that she was returned.

 

Georgi’s mournful cries kept sleep from Yuuri until the early hours, turning the horrid situation over and over in his mind until his body forced him to sleep.

* * *

 

It was well into the night when he woke with an imperative in his core. Not only was his bladder talking to him – another _delightful_ thing he’d had to get used to as a human with human functions – but he thought he caught a whiff of the same unique perfume from his dreams, vanilla, bergamot and pomegranate in equal measure. However, as soon as he stepped from the house, all thoughts of bodily functions fled his mind as his core was directed to step a careful pathway through the woods. His feet moved confidently as if he had tread the pathway for thousands of years. The same place he stepped wide in his dream, he did so to clear a large rock; to jump over a tiny stream, there was the place he hopped in his dreams. Following his intuition and the beguiling scent, Yuuri dove ever deep into the forest.

 

When the whispers started up, Yuuri was on the lookout for the mysterious figure, his heart beating faster than it should. Yuuri thought it might be a human thing, he didn’t know how else to describe why his heart was misbehaving. When the figure failed to appear, Yuuri bit back his disappointment. Still the whispers called to him through the trees, beaconed him. For all the tales of enchanted beings – usually at his siblings behest – ensnaring unsuspecting humans, usually to their doom, Yuuri shoved those worries away as he pressed through the cloistered forest. Rather, he wanted to satiate his curiosity for these dreams. When it came to the gods, nothing was coincidence and a recurring dream meant someone was trying to send him a message. It was Mari’s temple, so perhaps her. Or Loop, given her focus on him during the exhausting tribunal. But the lingering, delicious, intimate caresses; honestly Yuuri was beginning to crave them; those could be Phichit or Chris. Both were pretty handsy, almost to the point of embarrassment, whenever Yuuri hung out with them.

 

Soon all natural sounds fell away, no wind brushing through the branches, no crickets chirping for a love connection, just the susurrus whispers that almost imperceptibly changed into the murmur of a spring. _The_ spring. As the last hill rose, so did Yuuri’s hopes. His breath quickened in anticipation and his tongue darted to wet his lips.

 

A soft blue glow announced the spring just as the hilltop glen opened. All around, the seductive fragrance filled the air, making Yuuri’s head feel warm and delightfully fuzzy. There, balanced on the edge far of the water, the figure, cloaked in shimmering darkness, deep as the night sky above. Yuuri drew a sharp breath in when he saw the figure and his heart skipped again. The water behaved strangely around the figure, blue pulsing syncopated on the surface of the spring that radiated from the figure. The mystery man’s face – for though the figure cut a graceful stance, Yuuri could easily identify the powerful thighs, wide shoulders and straight hips ascribed to masculine figures – was obscured by the low light. [Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBU4v-qY5ng) danced through the air around them, from where Yuuri didn’t know, but it echoed his excitement, making his movements tremble.

 

Skating across the top of the water, the figure reached a searching hand. Yuuri stumbled a little when he ran to the spring. The figure gave the tiniest of gasps that Yuuri almost missed, but everything was washed away when the figure grasped his hand and Yuuri flushed from their contact. Pulled to the surface of the water, Yuuri and the figure glided in synchronicity. As the music swelled, it seemed the spring spread around them, yet Yuuri’s eyes never left the dark figure in front of him. Always the syncopated pulse radiated from the figure.

 

The spring seemed to spread to fade into a distance, their backdrop an open expanse of perfectly smooth water to skate upon. Their dance was at once a defiant challenge, a question. Why was Yuuri pulled inextricably toward this figure? And why did it seem like his partner was drawn into Yuuri’s gravity? Yuuri would skate in close and his partner kept perfect step with him, changing direction to match Yuuri’s intricate gliding footwork. Ever circling, the two figure cut their fates onto the waters below them. The figure again reached for Yuuri and their hands linked to pull off gravity-defying spins, relying on their partner to keep the other from flying into oblivion. They flowed across the water, never touching the surface, ripples formed from their feet. They separated only to be drawn back together time and again.

 

When a syncopated pulse began to radiate from Yuuri, his eyes widened when he saw it matched his heartbeat. He clutched at his chest to feel his own heartbeat. His partner’s pulse began to speed up as he noticed Yuuri’s realization. When they came together on the water, their pulses combined to create intricate concentric patterns on the water. The heady scent of his dreams filled his senses, altogether sweet and sharp; nicely balanced.

 

“It’s you,” Yuuri breathed, "Why is it always you in my dreams?" His hand squeezed his partner’s and smiled when they squeezed back. Is this what humans wrote about when they described falling in love? That beautiful unfolding feeling of finding someone who fit perfectly into your space? When his partner leaned in, Yuuri didn’t hesitate to meet him halfway to share a breath, their lips just ghosting beyond their own. If Yuuri wanted to, he only had to close that fraction, but he hesitated, suddenly unsure of his own emotions, and his partner didn’t push.

 

All around them the patterns thrown off the water reflected and it was a moment before Yuuri could see those reflections glowing in a pair of startling gem-like blue eyes. Viktor’s eyes.

 

Yuuri stumbled and his breath hitched at this revelation. _Why?_ But before he could process, his world shrank as he plunged through the surface of the spring. Icy cold water rushed to fill his ears and nose. As he gasped at the temperature, more water flooded into his mouth. He tried to swim upward, toward the surface – and toward Viktor, he thought begrudgingly – but he had no sense of direction and soon his lungs cried for air. His vision dimmed as the blue glow, so bright when they danced, faded. Moments before he succumbed, he felt the familiar presence of his Acheron flow around and through him, welling up from deep within the spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those keeping track of the pantheon:  
> Yuuri (Hades)  
> Viktor (Persephone)  
> Mila (Charon)  
> Phichit (Eros)  
> Chris (Dionysis)  
> Celestino (Zeus)  
> Vicchan (Cerberus)  
> Sueng-Gil (Hephaestus)  
> Michele’s (Apollo)  
> Emil (Aphrodite)  
> Mari (Poseidon)  
> Yurio (Artemis)  
> JJ (Narcissus)  
> Axel (Clotho)  
> Lutz (Lachesis)  
> Loop (Atropos)  
> Minako (Demeter)  
> Makkachin (Chimera)  
> Leo’s (Iris)  
> Guang-Hong (Zephyros)  
> Lilia (Hera)  
> Yakov (Boreas)  
> Georgi (Orpheus)  
> Anya (Eurydice)
> 
> Also, yes Hiroko and Toshiya used the colloquial names for the gods and Georgi and Anya didn't. They're practitioners of the cult of Mari, they have an in with the gods, yo. Laymen like Georgi wouldn't particularly know the nicknames of the gods.
> 
> And yes, worshippers of a temple were called cultists of that temple, so Hiroko and Toshiya are part of the cult of Mari. JJ, being drawn into one of Chris's fantastical parties, is a cultist of Chris, too. 
> 
> If you wonder why specific flowers and plants are used, it's because the Greeks were big into creating order with their gods. For example, celery is related to Poseidon because the plant carries a lot of water; Poseidon=big ol' water god. Cypress represented Hades because the tree was used in burial rituals (covered the pungent scent of a rotting corpse, yay!) SO I'm not just pulling these random things from nowhere. The Greeks all did the heavy-lifting for me :)
> 
> Music used:  
> Georgi’s song: [You Only Live Once](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7mnNdkhciQ) by W. Hanteno  
> How adorable is Georgi's VA???
> 
> Spring dance: [Nero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBU4v-qY5ng) by Thomas Bergersen (Two Steps From Hell)
> 
> And! And! I got off my duff and did a companion painting to my [Cerberus!Vicchan](https://fiorelilyicecastle.tumblr.com/post/160234422015/my-crappy-take-on-vicchan-as-cerberus-from-my) painting...  
> [Chimera!Makkachin](https://fiorelilyicecastle.tumblr.com/post/160925421835/the-makkachinchimera-that-no-one-wanted-but) She was super fun to paint! if only I was even a smidge better at human forms, but I'm still working up to drawing a person without it looking like a pile of poo.


	5. When the beating of our hearts echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tadaa, Yuuri is not dead! But you knew that, didn’t you. And things should be smooth sailing, but are things ever smooth for our lord of the underworld? Not in the slightest. The bad news keeps piling on and when Georgi turns up at his door begging for a chance to resurrect his dead fiancée, Yuuri jumps at it. Can Georgi listen to instructions and pull Anya from the Underworld? I sure as hell, er Tartarus, hope not otherwise Ovid would be very angry with me! But as Georgi brings the hammer of retribution to bear on Yuuri, Viktor is there to rescue our Lord of the Unseen. Or, Yuuri’s still salty, but his ship is starting to turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly recommend listening to the songs I handpicked for Viktor this chapter. While Fix You has been a favorite of mine for a while, it gained new meaning as I wrote Viktor’s part. Oh the pining and the willingness to do anything! It hurts! I actually had to tone down on some angsty parts because I found myself saying “no, that’s just waaaaay too cruel to poor Viktor!” And we get a glimpse of Eros Yuuri.
> 
> New storyteller again this chapter! I really hope you all like him. I had a blast writing him. And if you reeeeeeeealy can't figure out who he is, gods save you....
> 
> Also, I'm an unapologetic Disney Nerd, so I love the idea that the storyteller is also a HUUUUUGE FUCKING Disney Nerd. Even in the past Disney rules!
> 
> I hope I haven’t lost you lovely readers with my slow AF posting schedule. My longtime best friend was in town and since she works for the Foreign Service and lives in remote countries (SHOUT OUT MADAGASCAR!!) for many years at a time, I cherish my time with her. So a week or so late I’m here. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts.

“Wait, wait, don’t tell me; Yuuri died!?” decried Iokaste with the rest of the chorus at the outrage, the storyteller _did_ say this tale challenged their worldview. “He’s the central figure of this story, so how can he die? Do many more gods die in this story? If one god can turn mortal and perish, who’s to say all the rest cannot follow if this story continues!”

  

Admetos gasped at the heresy. “That cannot be! Then who have we been praying to for guidance, clemency, solace….forgiveness if the gods are dead?” Admetos said. Pheres whimpered at the outburst and Admetos tightened his embrace around his companion.

  

The storyteller took an overly large swig from his flask and took his time swallowing the sweet-smelling liquor, like he didn’t want to deal with their questions. This time, though, the students were not going to let the storyteller deflect an answer and they badgered him with rapid-fire questions that he tried his best to not entirely answer.

 

Before he could even formulate a response – 42 – to “Then what is the meaning to life, the universe and everything,” a slender stranger, some might call petite, melted in from the darkness just beyond the light of the fire, deep green cloak concealed their face, and tapped the storyteller on the shoulder lightly. Just this new stranger’s appearance caused some of their questions to die in their throats.

  

“They’re not gonna calm down, ya know,” the stranger crossed his arms and scoffed at the storyteller. “You’re doing it all wrong. If ya needed help, you just needed to ask!”

  

The air took on a hint of madness as though anything were possible, even pigs skating, as the storyteller’s nose wrinkled minutely in displeasure. “I was working on it. If it came down to it, I have this,” said the storyteller defensively as he shook his flask at the green-cloaked stranger. The stranger rejected that idea by a well-placed kick of his sandal in the dirt. The storyteller let the insult roll off with a wink and a nip of his flask.

 

“Wine doesn’t solve all problems, old man, so stop clinging to that sucky one-trick hack of yours,” said the stranger.

 

The slight floating in the air between them, the storyteller, the scent of grapes being crushed pungent in the air, rose to tower over the stranger. “Heh. I’d invite you to say that to my face, but then you’d have to fetch a stool.” As the retort was flung at the stranger, the storyteller smiled playfully and gazed down on high at the stranger.

  

The stranger’s hands were clenched, shaking in barely concealed anger as he ripped back his hood to clearly glare at the storyteller. A cascade of blonde locks, plaited messily on the sides and tied back as if he didn’t give a shit how his hair looked, fell free of its tie and halfway undid itself, falling into eyes the color of new pine growth. Time seemed to slow as everything balanced on a knife edge.

 

Just as the students were certain blows were about to be traded, the stranger pouted and looked away. “Whatever, fine,” he sulked. “But the night’s mine, so it’s my turn for this whole storytelling thing. And I’ll be so awesome at it these guys won’t ever want me to stop reading to them, so you might as well go home since they won’t want another storyteller.” The stranger puffed his chest up.

 

The storyteller chuffed a small laugh at the stranger, but handed over the scroll with a shaking head. “Try not to wear them down too quickly, you’re not on the hunt tonight,” he glanced back at the students. “They’re delicious young bucks, but that doesn’t make them deer, my dear.” He departed with a hand at his hips and a swagger in his backside.

 

The new storyteller sat down and cracked his knuckles with a stretch. “Might as well read through the night; good thing that’s my specialty. So try and keep up with me,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s my turn now, nerds”

 

* * *

  

 

The dark, so deep not even strained eyes could discern any light. There was no up, nor down. In fact, Yuuri wasn’t even sure if he was standing, or just simply floating. No sounds, no scent. All he considered “Yuuri” was contained in this sphere of darkness; though even to call it darkness meant he should be able to compare it to light. Which he couldn’t do, because there was no light, but he couldn’t even determine what the concept of light was without darkness; Yuuri stopped himself before his mind kept spinning that idea in circles.

 

Was this death? Would he even be able to think in death? ‘I think therefore I am’ someone wrote somewhere, sometime. Stars knew the shades he’d tended didn’t have much in the way of thoughts and he was thinking right now, so, no? Even as he determined he, in fact, wasn’t dead, the world around him spun and changed, a series of images flashed; too fast for him to discern anything more than basic color and shape before the next five had already whizzed by.

 

The kaleidoscope started to make Yuuri feel dizzy when the flashing images slowed enough to see more details, and what Yuuri saw made him sick to his stomach: Scores of deathly shades marching through the shattered gates of what could only be Olympus, death rolled in a wave after them. Another flash, Yuuri massaged the Great and Glorious Phichit’s shoulders as all the gods bowed in trembling fealty to kiss his scarlet and golden heels, one after another. Yet another flash, Yuuri lording over Viktor’s ruined body, maddened smile painted on his face as crackling blue power leapt from his hands to rake the god again and again – Yuuri winced when Viktor cried out.

 

Until the images stopped on just a figure, plain in garb, standing in a field ripe with golden wheat, hands clasped dearly in front of his heart. The moon silvered the edges of a cloud bank as dusk stole on the horizon, painting the sky in that in-between shade where the dance between light and dark forever stalled, the light unwilling to lose the dark and the dark waiting for the light. The stalks rustled, whispered secrets to one another as a wind ran through them; played with the figure’s metallic hair, making the colors of dusk bounce along the silvery strands. As the wind swept the concealing clouds away, it called to the figure. “ _Viktor_.” And Yuuri realized it echoed in his heart.

 

Viktor gently opened his hands and a shining point of red light glimmered low in the last of the day’s light. Yuuri thought he’d like to see what that light was, and suddenly he was standing nearly chest to chest with Viktor, though the other man didn’t react to Yuuri’s presence. Up close, Yuuri could see signs of laughter creased around his brilliant eyes and mouth, but also distressingly, trails of tears long since fallen streaked salty down his soft cheeks. Suddenly angry, Yuuri sought to demand the name of the individual who made this perfect god cry. Even worry lines marred his perfect brow. Yuuri thought to smooth out those lines, and suddenly he was. His gut reaction surprised Yuuri and he nearly pulled his hand away, but Viktor sighed deeply and the tension flooded out of Viktor’s face. Instead of pulling away, irrationally he chose to thread his fingers through Viktor’s bangs, marveling how the low light caught and danced in his silvery fine hair.

 

An unfamiliar emotion shot through Yuuri, something similar to the bright, joyous, friendly affection he held for Phichit, yet undercolored with a thrill of excitement and suspense. Fierce jealously shaded darkly with deep lust and yearning. Irritation that he couldn’t gain the God of Spring’s attention, yet intense joy to be even standing near the other god. It confused Yuuri because it wasn’t possible to feel all those things about one individual. And to his tormentor, Viktor, no less.

 

The red light gleamed again and Yuuri saw a single, ruby-bright seed from a pomegranate nestled in the cradle of Viktor’s hands. Yuuri could see dark earth crusted under Viktor’s shining fingernails and the unfamiliar emotion reared its head again. A gasp from the silver-haired god drew Yuuri’s attention and he just caught a single tear falling, diamond-like from his bottom lashes before Viktor ducked his head, the seed flashing as-

 

Blackness and form without form again. Somewhere water persistently dripped, dripped, dripped. That drip irritated Yuuri so much that he finally opened his oh-so-tired eyes to stare at a familiar rocky ceiling, its geography one Yuuri had stared at so often before. All the nobbly stalactites above his bed – yea, that was right, his bed, his mind dug up – including the one that looked like someone’s face leering at him, he knew he should recognize where he was, but everything was slow in starting up. He’d been dreaming, maybe? He couldn’t quite remember. Why did everything hurt?

" _UGGGH! SO Boring!” cried the storyteller as he threw his head back. He started scanning the scroll, too quickly for a normal person to read, mumbling to himself “Yuuri whining. And whining again…..and stars more whining. Mila crying? In comes Phichit. Ah ha! I knew it! Then Yuuri…” the storyteller trailed off and his face contorted. “Shit Yuuri! Then all that time you…”said the storyteller without offering explanation._

_The students protested at the great amount of skipping he was doing. “We really like hearing how Yuuri thinks and feels. It makes him seem, I don’t know, approachable, unlike the rest of the gods,” explained Admetos in a patient, cautious voice, as if he knew they were dealing with a powderkeg that could go off at any time._

_“Tch, no accounting for taste. But if you wanna waste my precious time reading the boring bits, then I guess I gotta do it. But only because I’m not busy tonight, otherwise you’d be shit outta luck. Try not to fall asleep as Yuuri puts us all in a stupor,” the stranger rolled his eyes, but went back to the story._

 

His heavily-fuzzed brain couldn’t put together a puzzle that only had six pieces. It was like he was trying to read a book in an incomprehensible language and he hadn’t been provided the answer key. He pushed up from the bed and shook his head to try and clear the fog, but that just made his vision swim and he fought to keep bile down. _Everything felt_ _wrong_. So when his body gave him the option of passing out, he gladly took it.

 

Same ceiling, same bothersome drip. Wait a minute, he knew that drip. He kept time with that drip, the one in the corner of his bedroom back home. He was home! In _his_ realm, home. Elation bubbled up in him and he bolted upright, eager to check on his realm, see exactly how poorly it fared these past few weeks without his guiding force. However, his stomach had something to say about his situation and it wasn’t a good message. Again the sense of wrongness pervaded. Did his hands always feel so ill-coordinated and _stars_ why did his back ache like he had tried to hold up Olympus himself? A moan slipped past his lips as the list of all the niggling aches and pains within his body grew.

 

Flurried feathers announced Mila as she flew in like a flash of red, her tiny wings fluttering as she barreled into him and crushed him in a bone-snapping hug. Yuuri’s stomach absolutely had something to say to that. And it did, messily. At least Yuuri managed to turn his head from Mila and not paint her with his stomach contents. But rather than show any concern over the momentary sickness, Mila wouldn’t let up her crushing embrace.

 

“Thank the stars you’re alright! I mean, this hasn’t happened before, so no one knew how to fix you,” she said as she buried her head in his chest. “When we found you, we weren’t even sure if you’d make it. You wouldn’t wake up!” When Yuuri gently placed his hand on her shoulder to regain some personal space, she burst into a flood of tears and wormed her face deeper into him.

 

Vicchan ran in as she wailed loudly and with an excited trio of yips, leapt to the bed, but he danced away from the puddle of sick. Yuuri was glad to see his pet alive and well, even if he felt like barely warmed shit. If he’d done one thing right, he’d saved his dog, and that was more than enough for right now. At least Vicchan wasn’t running off killing innocent humans, Viktor. He scooped his creation into a one-armed hug – his other arm Mila had commandeered as she vented her emotions onto his sleeve.

 

Sighing gingerly, he patted her shoulder, wondering if her concern had anything to do with this feeling of _wrongness_ in his body. It wasn’t like when he was cast from Olympus, that heavy pull to slide into the bosom of Gaia and rest among her bones. This though, this was something startlingly new….an ache that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. His senses seemed acutely aware of the roughness of his clothing, the acidic bile scent that clung to him, the growing wet patch from Mila’s tears. Did it have something to do with his realm? His shades? Or perhaps his time on earth had changed him? Not knowing where this unease welled from, the tide to his anxiety was rising.

 

But before it could overtake him, Phichit kicked the door to his chambers down – somehow with strappy red and gold heels, a wave of sweet roses rolled in with him.

_The storyteller let loose a moan. “Of course he wore strappy high fucking heels to the underworld. Can you believe him? How can he expect to run in those things?” he said._

_Iokaste piped up, “Well he does have wings, so he can fly instead?”_

_The young man was rewarded for his logic with a fierce look that eviscerated his confidence._

 

Laughing, Phichit jumped onto the Yuuri/Vicchan/Mila-shaped pile, causing a chorus of moans and doggy yelps. “YUURI,” Phichit whined, “I can’t believe I missed you waking up! I even set a reminder on my tablet to check in on you,” Phichit pulled out his fantastic golden device, decorated with cherubic hamsters nibbling on hearts, that had any number of notifications streaming in constantly – one even said “YurioxOtabek???”

_“Dammit, I’ll hunt him down!” said the storyteller with a flash of anger that quickly quelled as he seemed to consider something. “….Though if he hadn’t….” said the storyteller with the barest flush of red on his face._

_Iokaste started to ask if the storyteller was okay, but his words were stepped on by the young man with the scalded beard. “But wait, what’s that tablet thing though?” asked Admetos._

_Pheres happened to answer him before the storyteller could step in. “All the knowledge in all the world held in hands across borders, land, seas. What all Gaia contains condensed into a chip, not of stone, but of sand and metal and bones. To let humanity converse, debate, argue, find peace, find hatred, find love, across the bounds of time and space. News that once waited for ships, travelers, messengers, now dispensed like candy thrown at mobs of children starving for their next meal. But the gods may greedily keep such a thing to themselves,” Pheres started to shudder as if the information was too much for him to handle, his eyes rolled back into his head._

_The storyteller watched the young man’s diatribe in silence, his green eyes flashing in the dimmed firelight. He fashioned his hand into a fist with a pointed forefinger directed toward Pheres; thumb stuck upright until he punched it down and cocked his hand upward. At the “shot” something cool silvery, a stray shard of moonlight, flew toward the young man, whose eyes cleared and the trembling slowed to an occasional twitch. “Fucking prophets,” was all he said before continuing._

 

With Phichit jostling their odd group, he fought to keep another round of sickness down. “ _Stars_ why do I feel so bad? I’d thought once I returned to my realm, I’d go back to feeling normal again,” said Yuuri, as the pit of wrongness within him grew.

 

Phichit and Mila’s eyebrows shot into their bangs and they exchanged an overly-long worried glance, which turned Yuuri’s anxiety up even further. Even Vicchan whined and nudged at his hand in a soothing gesture.

 

“Tell me,” he practically commanded them. While he was no Celestino, he still ruled over his realm. His orders were supreme in the Underrealm.

 

With a shuddering breath, Mila regarded Yuuri. “What do you last remember, Yuuri?” she asked.

 

A ghost image of Viktor in a field of wheat flitted through his memory before it settled on their rhapsody in blue, how intense the connection to the mysterious figure, how he felt so strangely complete and yet how it felt like a prelude to a much larger story, how Viktor’s eyes bored into him like he had done something irresistible and inescapable. But rather than giving voice to any of those shameful things – tiny details like emotions, hardly worth mentioning; his dreams made real. Instead he woodenly recited his experience in the waters of the spring and that feeling of inundation, the Acheron wrapping him so completely he wasn’t sure where he ended and it began.

 

After he finished his recount, he felt so exhausted he could have slept for a hundred years. Again, the two of them were conspicuously silent, which raised Yuuri’s wariness. Finally, Phichit heaved a big sigh. “Yuuri, you’ve returned to your realm, but you’re still human,” said Phichit matter-of-factly.

 

Yuuri let loose the breath he’d been holding, when had he begun holding it? This wasn’t anything new, honestly being human wasn’t _that_ _bad_ , different, but not bad. He’d hoped for his godhood returned, but if he _had_ to live as one, he’d make it work. He tried to let some of his panic go, but their expressions told him there was more. He fisted the clammy blankets.

 

“And Yuuko _(Asclepius)_ thinks by swallowing the waters of the Acheron, your godly powers are returned, mostly,” said Phichit, which again gave Yuuri a brief bubble of hope, until Mila dropped the other shoe.

 

Blood pounded in Yuuri’s ears, drowning out Mila’s words. Words like “incompatible” “human form” “slowly killing you” managed to filter through fuzzy along the edges as they dropped onto the surface of his soul and spread like blood on water, coloring it darkly.

 

“Oh,” was all he could say. For nothing else could be said to convey how completely and utterly blindsided he felt.

 

What a way for his Acheron to thank him for his service, he bit back his bitter cry, pressing his lips into a thin line. Hot remorse pricked at the corners of his eyes and he fought to keep the tears from overflowing. He shouldn’t show weakness in front of his friend and subordinate, he clenched the bedspread tighter and curled his toes, every muscle tight in his body.

_The group gasped and Iokaste jumped in. “Yuuri’s not dead, but dying? How cruel the fates are to give boon with one hand, while stealing it back with the other.”_

_Talking amongst themselves, the students tossed theorizations about how or why Yuuri could or couldn’t die, each theory topping the next in wild conjecture, like a crazy list of observations they each had, each student certain he was right._

_Only Admetos noticed the storyteller’s introspective expression, the harsh lines of his face softening. A slight, sad smile graced his flawless porcelain face. Admetos reached to comfort the storyteller, but as soon as he came close to touching his arm, the storyteller moved so quickly he seemed to blink from one side of the fire to the other. His gaze on the group sharp and aquiline; which made most of them quail under his stare._

_“You bunch of tits, think about it. Only the strongest and fastest survive the hunt,” said the storyteller. “The same can be said for all living things. You nerds are acting like this is the end of the line for poor little Yuuri and he’s just gonna roll over and accept his fucking fate.” Aggravation rose in his voice and his gestures became sharp and aggressive. “Look ya fucktards, Yuuri may seem like a whiny pushover, but he’s no fucking weakling.” Respect shone through the storyteller’s voice. “He’s the Lord of the Underworld, Ruler of the Unseen Realm, dammit! So stop digging his grave while he’s still fucking alive!” the storyteller huffed._

 

Again, his thoughts strayed to Viktor’s piercing gaze, unreadable and seeming to scour Yuuri. Was the God of Perfection so offended by Yuuri’s numerous faults that he lured him to the spring, to Yuuri’s doom; better to sweep his competition away early, Yuuri thought acerbically. Out with the older, creepy, isolationist god and in with the younger, sparkling, more socially acceptable god. He caught himself trembling, not with the gross wrongness eating away at him, but with a smoldering indignation that seemed to dampen at least some of the queasy feeling in his core. In fact, the more he let his anger fuel his purpose, the better he felt. Sure, he felt like a bubble that had too much noxious air inside it, ready to pop, but at least now the bubble was girded in steel.

 “ _Told ya!” interjected the storyteller; the students rolled their eyes._

 

Phichit noted the hard line Yuuri’s face had suddenly taken and reached out to brush a comforting touch up Yuuri’s forearm, leaving a trail of faintly rose-scented gold dust behind – which did double duty for masking the smell from the puddle of sick still on the bed until Phichit used his power to wave it away, also in a poof of roses.

 

If all the world’s problems could be taken care of in a poof of roses, Phichit would be the most popular god; not that he wasn’t already, love was a powerful emotion to handle and usually his temples had waiting lines. His inventive head priest even implemented a number system so the poor humans could take a clay number and they’d be called back when he had time! So pleased was Phichit, he’d blessed the cheeky scamp’s hair to grow a forelock in his exact favorite shade of cardinal red, which caused men and women alike to swoon at the sight of the young Kenjiro. Movement on the bed reminded him he was supposed to be focusing on his friend as he caught Yuuri scrubbing at his face to mask tell-tale brightness in his eyes.

 

“Yuuri, talk to us. You’re being too quiet even for you,” he clasped Yuuri’s cool hand, uncharacteristically somber; a feat for a god in scarlet robes hiked to the bleeding edge of modesty and glowing heels as high as a handspan.

 

Yuuri startled at the touch, as if he had forgotten the other gods in bed with him, but he indulged in the warmth his friend was giving him. “I’m okay, really,” he took in a shuddering breath, but clenched his fist in determination, fire danced in his eyes. “I’ll just need to work harder in the time I have remaining.” He didn’t notice the look of sad disappointment shared between Phichit and Mila. He made them promise to keep the knowledge secret to only those who already knew about his condition, he already felt like a social pariah, he didn’t need his sibling’s pity as well. “Now, let me up I’ve got work to do, you’re smothering me to death!” He laughed at his own joke, but as their bed party broke up, the laugh turned to a brittle cough.

 

Mila whirled back on him. “Yuuri you shouldn’t! You should rest more, regain your strength.”

 

Phichit nodded sagely. “Mila’s right, you’ve only slept for nine months. You need more time.” Yuuri gasped at the statement, but his friend brushed it off like it was nothing.

_“Nine months!” cried Iokaste. “What a waste of time!”_

_The storyteller shrugged flippantly. “Yeah, so what? Babies are popped out every nine months and it seems like humans are able to do that like fucking rabbits. Nine months is nothing. Yuuri’s fine, don’t worry about him. He can handle himself.” The storyteller’s assurance did little to calm the group though._

 

The news of his nine-month sojourn hit Yuuri deeply. A few months would be but a blink to a god, he himself had existed for so long he’d forgotten to count the centuries. However, part of him remembered how worn Toshiya looked as they worked alongside one another, Toshiya’s shuddering muscles and hair shot through with grey, Anya cold and lifeless, stripped at the height of her youth. That part of him forcefully tapped him on the shoulder; his humanity. How easily broken and cut short life could be. His trembling existence in this world balanced on just a handful of years and already he’d squandered nearly one of them. Yet as Yuuri wrestled with this revelation, Mila and Phichit carried on as if it were a slight bump on the road to recovery.

 

“Yuuko’s been checking in on you occasionally, so I’ll have her come take another look tomorrow,” said Mila, taking notes to send a message to the God of Medicine. “If she’d been able to see you right away, she might have been able to figure out a way to meld your powers to your human body better, like how quickly she was able to fix Viktor and Makkachin after your-” Mila stopped herself short and gave Yuuri a concerned look as if she didn’t want to dredge up anything painful for her Lord, but he was far from paying attention to her.

 

“And why is it no one’s seen or heard from Viktor in nine months either? Strange. And not a peep from Minako.” Phichit tapped his finger to his lips, his eyes scanning as he thought, obviously digging through potential gossip contacts.

 

Viktor’s absence alerted Yuuri. Viktor probably was doing it to gain attention, compete with Yuuri for the favor of Olympus yet again. Yuuri grit his teeth until his molars groaned. The last god he wanted to think about was Viktor. With his shining, engaging expressions, pleasant heart-shaped smile, those luscious, plush lips…..nope, nothing that Yuuri remotely cared to think about, nuh-uh. But the more Yuuri pushed down those thoughts, the more they sprung back with a vengeance, slipping through his fingers like ephemeral fireflies to cast light on the darkness of his thoughts.

 

And his two bedmates kept gossiping about all the reasons why said god might be missing from the public eye. Yuuri’s eye began to twitch every. single. time Viktor’s name was brought up. Viktor, Viktor, _Viktor._ Until his patience filled to the brim and he ejected them from his room to force himself to calm down and take his mind off the irritable God of Perfection.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuko’s prescription: rest and relaxation and _NO USING HIS POWERS_ if he wanted to live a full lifetime – for a human, that is. Mila took it upon himself to be the enforcer of those orders. So when Yuuri heard a loud banging on the entrance to the Underworld, he thought she would be the one to answer it. He really was there to give judgement on where shades were placed in the Underworld and Mila herded the moaning lot of them like some ghastly shepherd. Demoted from night watchgod to glorified clerk of the dead, super.

 

After the seventh round of knocking he went to investigate. With a twinge of guilt he caught Mila snoring on her boat; she must have been exhausted doing most of his duties for him.

 

The last being he expected at his door was Calliope’s brood with his quiff drooping and a beard months into the growing. Georgi broke down immediately when Yuuri appeared in the doorway to the Underworld. The young man’s appearance unsettled Yuuri and thoughts of Anya’s unfair demise rose within him. So when Georgi threw himself on the mercy of the Lord of the Underworld to allow him one last look upon her face, Yuuri agreed, if only to stick it to Viktor.

_“Wait, why doesn’t Georgi recognize Yuuri?” asked Admetos._

_The storyteller smirked and a fey light shone in his eyes. “Gods are too great to look at properly. I mean, check out that white-haired prophet in your group, he saw an unconcealed god, guaranteed. Gods must conceal and obfuscate to not cook humans brains. Same thing must have happened with Yuuri even though he was human at the time.”_

 

Against Yuuko’s orders, Yuuri used a tiny amount of his powers to shroud Georgi so he could pass through his halls safely until they reached his reflecting pool. With another bit of effort, Yuuri tapped into Georgi’s emotions for Anya to locate her shade – Yuuri needed to lean his forearms onto lip of the pool to keep upright – Anya’s glassy-eyed shade came into focus; she was wandering the far reaches of his realm, close to the shores of Tartarus. She looked just as she did in her final moments of life, a sliver of her time, frozen and unable to move on, like all the rest of his denizens. How wonderful would it be if there were _more_ to the afterlife? Another tick on the celestial clock of life, death and rebirth.

 

Georgi yelped in distress, falling into great histrionics and pulling at Yuuri’s hem. “Please, I’ll do anything to have her back. Anything at all! She’s all I need. I cannot be whole without her!” he wailed, throwing his head back, hand dramatically at his forehead.

 

Love had lost that day when Viktor had ripped these two apart, the thought stewed in Yuuri’s gut. Viktor had been wrong to kill Anya, Yuuri was certain, and he would be the one to show him, and the rest of the pantheon, that humans were a much more powerful force than the gods give them credit for. If Yuuri reunited them, showed how powerful love could be to even traverse death, he _might_ even be able to petition for godhood reinstatement!

 

He would show Viktor how love is supposed to look like. Certainly not a love where one was walled behind the iron doors of the Underworld, the other forever pining for a love that cannot join him in the warm light of the Upperworld. Unbidden, the warmth of his and Viktor’s shared breath flitted through his mind and Yuuri furiously shoved the jittery feeling down.

 

He fixed the young man with a harsh gaze. “Don’t you know how dangerous this request is? Heed my instructions or you could very well lose your own life,” forewarned Yuuri. But when Georgi threw caution to the wind with not a seeming single regret for his actions, Yuuri accepted the young man’s passion for his lost lover. “A single shade pays two obols to cross the Acheron, to leave with both of you alive, you must appease it by dropping all your worldly wealth into its waters.” Georgi paled a bit and his hand strayed to his tiny coin purse, but still he nodded assent.

 

All that was needed now was a connection to Anya’s shade; Georgi’s emotional connection found her, now Yuuri needed something physical to draw her close to the realm of the living. Upon Yuuri’s instruction, Georgi slipped a lock of hair out from its placed tucked in his robes.

 

Yuuri fought to keep his elation down as he took the hair; if he was correct, Anya may still yet be drawn to this part of her. But the _real_ bonus would be lording it over Viktor how wrong it was to separate these two lovers in the prime of their infatuation.

 

“Now Georgi, take heed of these rules for they will safely convey the two of you to the land of the living. Turn around and start walking back along the pathway to the entrance. Pay your dues as you cross the Acheron; it’ll know if you haven’t given all your worldly wealth, so don’t try to short change it. Continue until you cross the entrance to the Underworld. All the way back, your Anya will follow, but you will not be able to hear anything from her. Trust she will be behind you, trust she is there for you. Do these things with care and you will be reunited,” said Yuuri.

 

More power was fed into the lock of hair and soon Yuuri felt Anya’s shade being pulled to her remaining self. Yuuri sank into his throne gratefully as his legs shook from standing overly long. Sweat beaded his brow and his hands were trembling. Whistling a strange repetitive dissonant [tune](https://youtu.be/nH0vjLwMyc4) –though the song ‘s cadence suggested darting attacks, but with notes, it lulled and soothed Yuuri into easy compliance, everything was going so smoothly Yuuri hummed along with the tune – Georgi started on his journey back to the entrance.

 

As Anya filtered up from the depths of his realm, Yuuri took her hand to reunite her with her lock of hair. He’d flinched reactively to brace against the expected flood of regret and pain from her death. Surprisingly, her final emotions were of relief and happiness, which washed sunny yellow and bright marigold over his robes, and a surprising bright smile was on her shade-blue face. It thoroughly confused Yuuri who thought Anya would held onto pain and sadness at her forcible separation from her lover. But even as he considered what it meant, Georgi’s whistling broke down any concerns he may have. Anya hesitated a half step as she moved to file behind Georgi, silent, her smile gone.

 

Drawn by Georgi’s song, Yuuri fell into step with them, as silent as Anya. Yuuri’s steps seemed to get heavier the longer he had to sustain Anya’s connection to her lock of hair and soon he was feeling quite thick and woozy. The closer they reached the entrance, Anya filled in more solid, the color filtering back into her.

_“Wait, is Georgi enchanting Yuuri and Anya?” asked Adametos_

_The storyteller scoffed. “Shit yeah he is! All of Calliope’s conniving runts are like that. They can never get the girls by personality alone. So they bust out their magical lyres or enchanted singing, or in this case whistling while he worked, like some fucking Disney villain or some shit like that and BAM, they’ve got the whole world twisted around their little finger.”_

_When the students paused at the word ‘Disney’ the storyteller added an addendum something to the effect of ‘he’s a fucking brilliant philosopher-sorcerer-entertainer from a magic kingdom far far away and you fucking wish you could meet him and give him your soul, but you can’t because he’s dead.’_

 

Along the way, Georgi kept whistling, only breaking to reinforce a point with Anya, telling her of their nuptials once she was restored. He casually mentioned how becoming a prince would help spread his songs – and influence – across the land. Money slipped to Acheron’s greedy waters, they were just steps away from the door to the Underworld when Georgi stopped cold.

 

“Anya, are you truly there?” his voice became sing-song, the melody somehow even more enchanting than his whistled song. “I’ve done everything the Lord of the Underworld requested, but he did say it would be dangerous if I didn’t do it correctly. What if I die here?” the young man’s back trembled as a shudder ran through him and he choked back a sob. “Gods know, Hades doesn’t let his shades go lightly. Maybe you aren’t behind me and this is a trick of the God of Death to entrap me here, like some sleeping prince waiting for his princess to come to him. Can you give me any sort of signal, just to let me know you’re here? Remember, I can’t become a prince without you as my princess, so it must be you.” His crooning trailed off as he strained to hear anything from Anya.

 

Silence met Georgi’s beseeching and Yuuri could feel his realm violently pushing back against Yuuri’s will to go through with this plan. Even through the song-haze rimming Yuuri’s thoughts, he started to have second thoughts. Why was Anya seemingly ecstatic the moment of her death? Yuuri felt like he was missing a piece of the puzzle, but he didn’t even know what the whole picture looked like, so he kept jamming different pieces into the hole but none fit correctly.

 

When there Georgi didn’t get a response, he shook his head violently and he howled. “Ah I knew it! I’ve been tricked! If you were there, you’d have shoved me for my impertinence like you always do. You’re not there, are you,” he said as he whirled around to face Anya and Yuuri. As Georgi’s word was broken, the Underworld howled, a musty wind seared the air around them, and the ground beneath their feet shook. In the pit of his stomach Yuuri felt the uneasy rage rolling in from his realm as it realized Yuuri’s attempt to release one of his shades.

 

 _No, trust her, trust in your love to her!_ Yuuri’s heart pounded as his plan crumbled before his eyes. How could Georgi throw his one chance at love away? For the possibility of being hurt or killed in the process? Isn’t love supposed to be greater than your own life? Was love so flimsy and ephemeral?

 

Anya took a deep breath – well, as much as a shade “breathed” – and lit into Georgi. “Finally I am free of your insufferable singing. We wouldn’t have even been betrothed in the first place if you hadn’t bewitched my king and father with your song. You had absolutely no right to be by my side. By the way, I was slowly poisoning myself in hopes you wouldn’t want a sickly wife and leave me alone! Face it, Georgi, no one likes a bard. Oh, and by the way, your singing sucks.” And just like that, she smiled wide and threw Georgi a very rude gesture as her shade was sucked back to the Underrealm. As she passed, she brushed Yuuri’s arm and radiant joy burst in shades of pinks on his already colorful robe.

_“Heh! Sneaking poison to escape the bonds of marriage! Good on her for taking control of her destiny! Serves that tricky bastard Georgi right for trying to corral a wild one like her,” sneered the storyteller. “The hart you treat with selfish carelessness is the one that will turn around and gore you in the end.”_

_“But, isn’t it sad how she was forced to that end? She seemed so full of vitality and now she’s going back to the ‘dank and boring’ underworld again.” The students mood dropped at Admetos’s observation._

_Annoyance grew on the storyteller’s face and his green eyes took on a fey light. “Fuck off, the Underrealm isn’t as ‘dank and boring’ as you shitheads seem to think. Yuuri whines and moans too much about his lot in life, but his realm isn’t as dull and lifeless as he makes it out to be. Shit happens there. The titans are always struggling to escape Tartarus and Yuuri beats them back like a badass. He’s even hosted parties, small ones, which gods talked about for ages afterward…in Olympus…where Yuuri doesn’t hang out…doesn’t hear their praise…….dammit,” the storyteller ended sourly and he chewed his lip._

  

Ejected from the Underworld, Georgi spouted curses and vexations at Yuuri’s door over the loss of princehood, his hair already bleeding stark white. Shaking his fist at Yuuri as he ran off, Georgi vowed to bring others to tear down the walls of the Underworld.

  

Yuuri would have been more concerned over the insults and sacrilege thrown at him, if he had been able to stand, that is. The wrongness within him spread and his thoughts became heavy, as if he was pulling them through mud. He’d hoped it was just a byproduct of Georgi’s singing that his body was rejecting him. But no, it was just his power eating away at his life, that’s all, Yuuri thought with a wry huff. He shouldn’t have tried to use love to bring someone back to life. Love was just a stupid emotion anyway. Obviously Anya didn’t need it and Yuuri sure as shit didn’t either.

 

Just when he thought collapsing sounded like such a wonderful idea, he heard a concerned “Yuuri!” and saw Viktor running to intercept him. Viktor’s stormy robes were rumpled and his normally pristine white boots were caked in mud. Even from his vantage, Yuuri could see deep bruising circles under the God of Spring’s eyes and his gilded hair stuck all which ways. Yet even in Viktor’s apparent distress, he _still_ looked practically perfect in every way, which stuck in Yuuri’s gall.

 

Fuck no. He would _not_ fold like a weakling in front of the gods who’s fault everything was in the first place. Using the last of his strength, Yuuri drew himself up with dignity and turned away from the argent-haired god, despite hearing Viktor gasp and run faster. He shut and sealed the door with another brush of power. Yuuri rested his head against the cold iron, sweating and gasping, he’d only tapped the barest amount of his powers and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. He barely heard Viktor calling for him again and again, his heart constricted with each “Yuuri” and other pleading words he couldn’t make out through the door. No, he would not give Viktor the satisfaction of seeing Yuuri fail yet again, he wouldn’t let the God of Perfection lord this over him.

 

 _Then_ he collapsed.

 

* * *

 

 

Wallowing in his failure, days melted to months, so wretched Yuuri felt. Not only did Yuuri completely a) misread the situation, b) misread love as a bond between two individuals, and c) tried to force Anya back into a life she no longer wanted, but x, y, and z) Yuuri realized Viktor had been right to take her life.

  _“Dammit Yuuri, Makkachin took her life, not Viktor you ass. Get it right!” the storyteller yelled at the scroll but then blushed when the students stared owlishly at his outburst._

  

As soon as he could, he’d pulled Anya back to his throne room in hopes he could talk with her – specifically about poisoning herself. Yuuri didn’t understand why she would make such a rash decision when her life was on the line. Already her shade had been drained of any thought and emotion, courtesy of his realm. Her glassy-eyed stare seemed to accuse Yuuri for his misdeeds, for trying to reverse Viktor’s actions, and he was too exhausted to disagree.

 

 Mila barely could get him to eat and Phichit more often than not was turned away from Yuuri’s quarters, even when Phichit came bearing invitations to parties and events – Chris was gearing up for another month-long festival and Yurio and Otabek _(Orion)_ had some sort of bet on who was the better hunter. Leo had to step in more and more often to help out Mila as she tried to keep operations in the Underworld afloat. The prismatic Psychopomp wasn’t as efficient as Mila in ferrymen’s duties and more often than not shades went weeks before they arrived on the far shore for processing. Yuuri made half-hearted gestures from his throne that Mila had to interpret to figure out where each shade was to be placed. His realm groaned under Yuuri’s depressive state.

  

Yuuri might have been able to pull himself out of the funk he was in, but as it happened help arrived from an unlikely corner. Mila was the first to hear the commotion in the lands outside his door, boots enough to make the land tremble at each footfall. An army out of Thessaly, many thousands strong, thundered toward the entrance to the Underworld; shock-haired Georgi at the forefront, his golden lyre keeping time as the men behind all marched to Georgi’s [song](https://youtu.be/r3whOHc5y9Q) of angry men, their collective voices clarion off the surrounding hills and echoing down Yuuri’s halls.

  

Against her reasoned protests, Yuuri instructed Mila to keep Vicchan with her safe in his throne room. The Underworld was _his_ realm and his alone to protect. As befitting a former elder god, he would take responsibility for his actions, unlike so many of his capricious siblings. He wouldn’t drag Mila and Vicchan into a situation of his own making. No, he would rather face death than see either them harmed by his pigheadedness.

_“You stubborn pig! Take every fucking advantage you can get on the field of battle. Stop with this noble self-sacrificing crap! What the fuck did he think he could do by himself against the rebellion of men?” shouted the storyteller at the impassive scroll._

_Iokaste thought a moment, “But he has his powers, so wouldn’t he be able to wipe them out easily?”_

_The storyteller furiously swiped his hair back from his face and held it back, tightly clenched, his face pinched. “Were your ears fucking stuffed? You heard how drained he was with just a tiny amount of his power. To wipe out an entire army of men…..” The storyteller’s voice was small as he shuddered at the thought and shook his head._

  

Yuuri stepped out his door and sealed it behind him. He felt small against the giant iron doorway, insignificant. Nothing grew near his realm, the murk of death wasn’t optimal for blooming flowers or leafy forest. Normally just the gloom of fatality that hung ominous in the air prompted lost humans to turn back, but occasionally an intrepid explorer would wander into his realm. So when the dust kicked up by the men appeared on the horizon, they still were a few hours march away, affording Yuuri precious time to prepare.

  

But how to face thousands upon thousands? Sure Yuuri had read accounts of great feats by heroes-

  _“Fucking Perseus,” muttered the storyteller._

  

-overcoming insurmountable odds, but in all those tales the heroes all had blessings from the gods. Here he was, one former god with no support, to stand against the tide of angry men crying for retribution against uncaring gods. Oddly, the song drifting over the barren field sang in his blood and enflamed his heart even in its crusade against him. He called to the power contained in his fragile human body and felt it respond with a twist of wrongness, leeching the strength from his knees and making his head dizzy.

 

Still he called for more power from his realm until it positively sizzled behind his eyes, tingled to the tips of his fingers. It would be explosive when he released it all at once, but it should take out most of the angry host, hopefully sparing his Psychopomp, Guardian, and all the shades under his protection. As the power twisted and writhed within him, he wondered what would happen when a god died; even the titans, including his monstrous parents, weren’t technically _dead_ per se, just…contained. But since he was mortal he was unsure of the consequences upon the earth. He hoped it wouldn’t harm Gaia too much, but he was treading in unknown territory, so the possibilities dropped deeply in his stomach and his body felt fluttery with excitement and trepidation.

  

He could have easily given in to the instinct to run, to hide away from the problem, at the expense of those he cared about; so instead he used that awful feeling of leaping off into open space to bolster his courage. If he was going down, he would do so with all the resources he had available. He would show his siblings how a fucking god of death, even a fallen one, should act!

  

When he could nearly see the straps of their sandals and the studs on their shields; their glorious bellicose song ringing all around him, Yuuri gripped his shaking hands together to calm the beating of his heart. Only a few hundred meters and they would be upon him, their swords winked in the sunlight and their leather helms shone dully.

  

Then, initially soft, another [song](https://youtu.be/k4V3Mo61fJM), promising redemption and understanding, threaded the air and subsumed the march. Yuuri couldn’t identify from where this music was coming, but it calmed his racing heart and wrapped him so fully he almost felt like he could lie back and let the song lull him to sleep, but the power of his realm still thrummed in his veins, death incarnate should Yuuri choose to let rip the control on this tide.

  

Shoots, first tiny and bright green with newness, sprouted all around him and the entrance to the Underworld, shooting up and up with startling alacrity that pulled a surprised laugh from Yuuri’s lips. The air deliciously fragrant, like he could take a bite, the perfume thick on his tongue as it flicked out to lick his anxious parched lips. As he watched striking red blooms fulled and from the center of the flowers, garnet-like pomegranates grew heavy, ripe and weighty with juice, weighing the branches down. So quick was the outgrowth, he could only assume one of his siblings had come to his rescue; perhaps Lilia or, unlikely, Minako, since they controlled the harvest.

  

All too quickly, the new forest spread and consumed the oncoming army, obfuscating the entrance to his realm, forested and labyrinthine right on his doorstep. Yuuri could barely see the army and from his vantage he could see the ranks stumble in confusion as the trees grew between their legs and up their short robes, often giving their neighbors nice views of their rear ends. Yuuri could hear Georgi shouting to try and maintain control over the army; most of them Yuuri heard breaking away yelling about the curse of the gods; his song virtually deafened by the sound of growth and the new song filtering through the trees; almost as if the leaves were carrying the song for the beautiful singer.

  

The music, so plaintive, Yuuri needed to see who was his savior. In the densest growth, a low, but pure light shone. Like a moth to a flame, it drew Yuuri in. The singing grew clearer and Yuuri could hear some of the lyrics, promising to fix the broken individual for whom the song was sung. Yuuri hoped the singer could make good on those promises, so clear was the singer’s impassioned entreaty.

  

Yuuri broke through a tough, tangling vine and tripped into a small glen, landing oh-so-gracefully on his hands and knees. He winced at the strident pain in his palms. The song faltered and Yuuri’s gaze landed on the softly shining Viktor, sitting relaxed against a pomegranate tree, song dying on his blushed lips, his hands buried deeply in the soil, which also glowed with the same pure white light as Viktor. Their eyes locked and Yuuri thought he could see slight shock, like Viktor hadn’t expected Yuuri. Already pink and sweaty with effort, Viktor flushed nearly as red as the pomegranates – and another set of emotions ran through Viktor’s features so quickly that Yuuri couldn’t quite follow – caught in the act of creation, something so intimate; a bond between Viktor and the earth below them. Brow drawn in confusion, Yuuri tried to figure out why Viktor would be here, helping him. He wanted to topple Yuuri from the pantheon, didn’t he? To see him so thoroughly humiliated that Viktor could gain a seat among the upper pantheon. So why did Viktor rescue him from an almost certain death? And why did he now look so sad?

  

Just like with Georgi and Anya, had Yuuri misread Viktor’s intentions? The thought quickened in Yuuri’s gut as he considered Viktor something aside from rival and enemy. Without a conscious will, Yuuri crawled closer to the God of Spring, Viktor’s personal perfume infuriatingly enticing, drew him in. Hands still buried in the skin of Gaia, locked there while he created the forest, Viktor could do no more than watch Yuuri with half-lidded eyes as Yuuri crept to Viktor’s side. He had to take in more of that delicious scent and the power thudding behind Yuuri’s eyes nudged him forward to bury his nose in Viktor’s soft hair. The softest gasp came from Viktor as Yuuri drew in a deep shuddering breath. It was all so confusing. Why was Viktor still creating more forest? Doesn’t he know nothing grows on these lands? Yet Viktor seemed intent on creating his doomed forest.

  

Neither one of them moved, instead the sound of growth stirred the air around them, whispering sweetly in Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri tapped his forehead to Viktor’s and sighed out his worries.

  

Far off, Georgi’s curses punctuated through the dense undergrowth, breaking the bubble of silence. In a rush, Yuuri’s thoughts were drawn back to Georgi’s broken promises; broken, manipulating love for Anya and Yuuri’s heart hardened. Love was a fallacy, an illusion that turned sane individuals into twisted versions of themselves. It can’t be reasoned or rational. It had no place in Yuuri’s worldview.

  

Like Georgi, Viktor undoubtedly was doing this for his own gain on some level, even if Yuuri couldn’t quite see it. No one helps others out with the goodness of their heart. That he even for a sliver of time began to trust Viktor drove ice further into his heart, the emotional pain burned, but reminded him of who he needed to rally against.

_"No! Why are you doing this Yuuri? Love is beautiful! Don’t turn your back on it!” entreated Admetos, talking directly to the scroll._

_The storyteller’s smile was dry, but not unkind. “Even the wisest of us can sometimes be blinded by experiences. Just like a forest can secretively hide dangers and even come alive in malice in the dark places, gods can harbor grudges for a long time. And Yuuri is particularly stubborn,” said the storyteller._

_“I hope he can see the love around him. Even_ I _can see how much those around him care deeply for him,” said Admetos as he leaned against Pheres._

_The storyteller regarded Admetos for a moment and hummed to himself. “You’re gonna be a good man someday; nerdy, but good,” he pronounced._

  

So abruptly Yuuri stood that Viktor yanked his hands out of the soil with a wince, breaking his connection to the earth. Yuuri cast about for an outlet for his hurt, a branch with a large heavy pomegranate whacked him in the head. Now Yuuri knew, Viktor was showing him up, making fun of him! Not only did he fend off the advancing army – which Yuuri totally could have taken – but he dared plant a forest on lands he claimed as his own; lands that should reject living things on principle; the nerve of him!

  

Yuuri glared at Viktor for his impertinence and tore the pomegranate down and, gripping the large fruit in both hands, ripped it in half with ease. Juice spattered and rained red on Yuuri’s face and a single drop landed on Viktor’s pristine robes near his heart. Yuuri smirked to project his understanding of this situation. And to show Viktor just how in control he was, he took a large slurping bite of the fruit, the seeds bursting with tangy sweetness on his tongue, the juice running down Yuuri’s chin and following the curves of his throat. Yuuri noticed how Viktor’s eyes seemed to follow the ruby juice down and he could see Viktor’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, his inner Yuuri crowed in the fact that, at least for the moment, he commanded the attention of the God of Perfection.

 

Face smeared with red juice, he knew he must look like the cursed, frightening Lord of the Underworld, God of the Dammed and Dead, the Unseen Ruler. Good, he wanted to intimidate Viktor, so he licked the red juice off his pearly lips slowly, like he was savoring the dying drops of a fresh kill. The power bursting through Yuuri pulsed with his confidence as a stalking hunter and Viktor was the quivering rabbit lying low in the brush, hoping for death to pass him by safely.

  

Showing how little regard he held for the large fruit trees Viktor had grown on his lands, he chucked the other half pomegranate onto the ground near silver-haired god, his gaze daring the younger god to feed off his scraps. Yuuri was rewarded with yet another gasp from those perfect lips and those cerulean blue eyes captured Yuuri’s with ease, silently sending a challenge back.

  

When Viktor also took a bite, albeit more tentative compared to Yuuri’s confident aura, Yuuri shot predatorial smile to the younger god. “You’re lucky I tolerate pomegranates,” he tossed the comment lightly over his shoulder as he turned on watery legs, the power he drew in uncomfortably burning in his gut.

  

As he stalked away, Viktor started to say “I’m sorr-” but Yuuri swiftly threw a piercing glare over his shoulder at the young god. He didn’t want to hear excuses and he certainly didn’t want to hear Viktor gloat over his victory. But instead of boasting, Viktor surprised Yuuri with a different topic of conversation.

  

“Ah- is Vicchan, er, your godly creature, is he okay?” Viktor’s voice was so small, Yuuri didn’t even believe it came from the God of Perfection. He turned to look back at the Lord of Spring and was startled to find a look of such fragility that Yuuri nearly ran back to his side. But no, Yuuri had to be strong to show this young upstart who he was dealing with and so he girded his back in iron.

  

“You’ll find he’s made of stronger stuff than normal godly creatures. He’d have such a great time with your Makkachin, tearing around after her, nipping at her heels, keeping her on her toes,” he kept his voice low. He’d hoped for the barely veiled threat to get his point across. “I’m keeping this fruit,” said Yuuri as he raised his half above his head in a mock toast to the pointless doomed forest Viktor had created. Yuuri delighted at Viktor’s expression of awe and possibly a glimmer of hunger before he sauntered back to his realm.

  

As soon as he was safely sealed behind his iron doors, he released the pent-up power he had been collecting. He had to brace against the door to stay in control of his limbs. Bitten pomegranate in hand, he returned to his throne, Mila and Vicchan nearly apoplectic in their worry. Yuuri regarded the pomegranate that Viktor had grown. Well two can play at that game, Yuuri thought as he plucked a seed from the fruit.

 

* * *

  

 

The sun winked over the top of the hill and the storyteller quickly pulled up his hood. “Huh, all you nerds are still awake. I might have use for you yet! The next part is all about Otabek and Me-errrrYurio, so it’s time for you all to go to sleep,” he said and he turned away as if he expected them all to immediately fall into deep sleep, but when they all argued and whined for more story, he turned a heated green gaze on them.

  

The storyteller drew in a deep calming breath. Then he shouted “Fine! here’s a little rhyme for you all. Pay attention you nerds!

‘The owls fly forth from the treetops

Through the air, they soar and they sweep.

 

A hot crimson rage fills my heart, nerds,

For real, shut the fuck up and _SLEEP_ ’

 

Thank [Adam Mansbach](https://youtu.be/AqOCM6wkKQ8) you fuckers, now, go the fuck to sleep.”

 

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additions to our growing pantheon:  
> Yuuko (Asclepius)  
> Otabek (Orion)  
> Also, a bit of a retcon with Asclepius, I ended up really liking the idea of Yuuko being a caretaker of the gods. And a mini cameo of Minami!  
>   
> Georgi’s whistling song [Can’t Stand Losing You](https://youtu.be/nH0vjLwMyc4) The Police  
> Georgi’s revolt [Do You Hear The People Sing?](https://youtu.be/r3whOHc5y9Q) Les Miserables Original Broadway Cast  
> Viktor’s song of protection [Fix You](https://youtu.be/k4V3Mo61fJM) Coldplay  
> [Go The Fuck To Sleep](https://youtu.be/AqOCM6wkKQ8) By Alan Mansbach, Avengers version. So totally cute!  
> [And hey](http://victuurificrec.tumblr.com/post/161116728393/yoi-fan-rec-friday) @Victuurificrec added me to her list!  
> And check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fiorelilyicecastle) where I'm posting image boards for nearly all my characters. Viktor and Yuuri go up tonight.


	6. I put a spell on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri gets a surprise visitor on his doorstep who shows him a new way to garden in the Underworld. Then Phichit Has Plans and Yuuri gets saddled with an unwelcome partner during a unique hunt between Yurio and Otabek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo! Guys guys, you have no idea how much I edited the fuck out of this chapter. I must have deleted and rewritten it more times than possible! But, if you’re still with me, THANK YOU! I do appreciate my readers. I can’t tell you how excited I am to upload this finally! Oh, and what's that sound? Oh that's just the sound of PHICHIT BREAKING EVERYTHING AT SPEEDS NOT RECORDED BY HUMANITY! DAMN HIM he’s making plans behind my back! Keep and eye on him, he’s tricky. 
> 
> Also, fanboy Yurio gives me life. 
> 
> Also also, nerdy gamerhead Phichit gives me life.
> 
> AS A WARNING: next chapter the rating WILL jump to Explicit. I’m not entirely sure if what I have here still falls into the Mature category, but if it doesn’t, please tell me and I’ll change accordingly.
> 
> Feel free to nudge me on [my Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fiorelilyicecastle) I post YOI and my own paintings for this little AU of mine. If you find typos, or my writing is just confusing, drop me a message here or a line on tumblr. I edit my own work, so I can miss stuff.

Sheep snuffling the grass near their faces woke the group far too early for their liking – you know, afternoon – though keeping odd hours as students was nothing new to them. However, the cluster of dazed and confused students right where his sheep normally grazed didn’t go over well for the kind shepherd, especially when he fed them the night before.

  

Yawning, they rushed to gather their things and return to the hard-packed road, they stumbled along half-asleep until they heard the sweet seduction of a babbling stream.

  

Admetos rushed toward the promise of fresh water and, _thank the gods_ , a place to bathe! Many weeks on the road and his nose hair cringed every time he pulled Pheres in for a hug. They needed a good bath.

  

Overlacing the trickling stream, soothing harmonious voices filtered somewhere upstream of them. “Listen, Naiads! There’s a legend I’ve heard of if you meet one!” called Iokaste, about to rush off enthusiastically to catch a glimpse of the water nymphs.

  

The tallest student, solid as the rock of Gibraltar, suddenly stood. “Stop! Heed not the call of the Potameides,” Kinesias risked using the true name for the river nymphs, for to name them was to draw their attention; but to halt the foolhardy Iokaste from rushing into the dubious clutches of some watery tart who may or may not throw swords at people as a basis for a system of government, he was willing to risk it.

  

“So, no bathing then?” asked Admetos, his shoulders slumping. Then the song of the Potameides suddenly ceased and a parliament of rooks suddenly took flight passing noisy judgement on some activity below.

  

“The water we look upon holds no death for us,” proclaimed Pheres, his eyes unfocused and glazed over as he waded into the shallow stream, stripping articles of clothing as he went. Admetos and the rest didn’t hesitate to join in his nakedness and rush into the bracing waters, glad to be awash from the dust of the road. But as boys will be boys, soon their bath somehow turned to a wrestling match and splash-fest. Were the gods watching they would have thought they were five-years-old; but of course the gods have better things to do – right Phichit…right?

  

Clothing dripped from branches, their cheeks rosy and polished clean, their bellies filled with a brace of rabbits they caught, the boys eagerly waited in various stages of nakedness for their storyteller to join them. Just as the last light of day vanished behind the hillside, a cypress wind blew in from the south and stoked the fire, smoke blinded their eyes. As they cleared their watery eyes, the storyteller sat beside the flames, scroll at the ready, cocky smirk already pasted on his face.

  

“Shit you’re stupid to camp near these particular Naiads. Their appetites for young men are as insatiable as that fluff-headed Phichit,” he said, shaking his head. “Still, you’re all in one piece, so someone has a head amongst you. Had you gone in the water before they cleared out, you would have been toast, er, fuck, is toast a thing now?” asked the storyteller, but he received blank stares, he rolled his eyes. “Anyway, you’d have been dinner in the “death by watery sexy time” way.”

  

Iokaste was crestfallen. “Oh. So no magical swords from lake spirits then?”

  

“Fuck no! Look…just no. There’s no moistened bint lobbing scimitars at unsuspecting young men hoping to be king or emperor, so just put that nonsense away! Now, sit your asses down and listen to the fucking story!”

  

And they did.

* * *

 

  

Yuuri had worn an actual groove near the foot of his bed as the Lord Unseen paced back and forth. Pacing helped Yuuri focus on the important things, like why he had a deep pile of shriveled, blackened pomegranate seeds and not on why his heart made strange flips as he mulled over and over _why_ the God of Spring had created “Viktor’s Folly” – as Yuuri had taken to calling the forest that just wouldn’t take a hint and die – in the first place.

  

The Lord of Love, sprawled halfway across Yuuri’s bed, head hanging off the side as he tracked Yuuri’s progress – Yuuri would say ass, Phichit would agree. He hummed knowingly as Yuuri furiously paced, stopped a moment to open his mouth to say something, then would think better of it and resumed pacing.

  

“Yuuri, I love you, but you’re being totally recockulous, you know that right?” he sighed and swiped to open a pestering notification on his tablet. “Huh, speak of the god and he shall appear. Our delicious morsel of Spring been spotted at Minako’s residence. I wondered when he would turn back up,” said Phichit as he examined the image closely. “Hmmmm, don’t you think he looks tired?” asked Phichit. Yuuri definitely did not pause just to check on Viktor’s appearance, nope, he’s just mildly curious, that’s all. But Phichit was right, the image showed Viktor’s silver hair held less gleam and overall he looked a little ragged. And there goes his heart making flips again. Yuuri rubbed at his sternum with a grimace.

  

“Anyway, I stand by my word, you’re recockulous,” said the God of Love, pinning Yuuri with his patented ‘I know you better than you know you’ look. Yuuri hated that look, mostly because it meant Phichit was right about something.

  

Yuuri pulled a face. “It’s ridiculous-”

  

“-Only if you weren’t being a total cock right now, which you are. It’s a just a lovely little forest – which, by the way, saved your luscious ass as you described it – he’s not out to unseat you, outshine you, or dominate you into submission; though if he’s _ever_ lucky enough to be in that position, I want in,” Phichit added hastily. “He’s probably just trying to get your attention any way he can,” said the Lord of Love with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

  

Yuuri snorted with a wry grimace. “Please, he has the attention of _everyone_ in Olympus. You have a notification set for when he’s in Olympus for stars sake!” Yuuri threw his hands in the air. “He’s practically the poster boy of the pantheon, he doesn’t need my attention,” mumbled the Lord Unseen. He pressed his hands to his thighs and hunched his shoulders, physically making his presence in the room smaller.

  

“ _Need_ is the operative word here,” added Phichit, “ _Want_ is another applicable word.” He rolled over to his stomach to fix Yuuri with a yet another pointed gaze before he leapt lightly from the bed to pick up and sniff one of the many pomegranates scattered all around Yuuri’s bedroom in various states of experimentation. “Mmm, smells lovely,” murmured Phichit

  

Yuuri scowled at the suggestion, but at least he stopped pacing to consider the word choice. “So tell me great and wise Phichit, why would the God of Perfection himself he _want_ my attention?” he crossed his arms as he rolled his eyes, sardonic skepticism clear on his face. Phichit giggled over Yuuri’s epithet for Viktor.

  

But before Phichit could even answer his confused friend, Yakov blew into Yuuri’s chambers, frown cemented on his face. Mila rushed in anxiously after and planted herself between Yakov and Yuuri, her yew staff on guard.

  

“Master of the Northern Winds, for what reason have you to assault the inner chambers of the God of the Underworld?” she demanded, tradition and the codes of hospitality that demand respect stiffening her speech.

  

“Yeah, what’s up, Yakov,” added Phichit. “You aren’t still mad I set you and Lilia up, are you? You finally weren’t such a blustering hardass after you two hooked up, so stop going on about ‘personal choice’ and ‘not real love’ already and enjoy yourself!”

  

Yakov fixed Yuuri with such a glare that could boil his innards merely on sight. He didn’t think he had insulted the Northern Wind, but Yakov’s expression said otherwise. Biting his lip, Yuuri thought back to his last interaction with Yakov during the tribunal where the harsh god sat stony faced while Yuuri pleaded for Vicchan’s life. It’s not like they weren’t on altogether friendly terms, but at least it wasn’t outright hatred then. Maybe he should walk the halls of Olympus more often, if anything to see and be seen, or, as Phichit would say, “schmooze and be schmoozed.”

_The storyteller barked a laugh. “Yakov’s always angry about something, everyone in Olympus knows that,” he said. “Shit, maybe Yuuri does need to show up more often.”_

  

Rather than rise to Phichit’s jibe, the God of the Northern Winds fixed Yuuri with a glare of epic proportions. “I don’t know exactly what you did to Viktor, but you will pay dearly for your impertinence!” blustered the irascible blowhard.

  

And without waiting for a rejoinder, he released his deep purple wings and a gale rose in Yuuri’s chambers, whipping everyone’s robes around; books and pomegranates flung all over the place. Yuuri cried as some of his precious books flew into the Acheron. The air sharpened as ice motes coalesced, crispness shot through with almost metallic notes; the scent of an oncoming snow storm as one hunched their shoulder to fend off the howling wind and the icy fingers that stole their breath away. Yet even as the gale tore through the small chambers, Yakov’s hair frosted and robes gleamed with a thick layer of ice; frozen over and rimmed with hoarfrost.

  

Yuuri’s core temperature dipped dangerously low, he shuddered as full-body shivers wracked all the way down to his toes. Were he immortal, this would be a mere inconvenience to be shut down with a dominant show of power for Yakov’s disrespect of Yuuri and his realm, but in this human body, he could barely think warm thoughts let alone form words of power through trembling blue lips. But through the storm, Yuuri wondered what happened with Viktor that forced Yakov into action. And why did Yakov believe Yuuri was at the heart of it?

  

Mila immediately fanned her own tiny, raven black wings to shield Yuuri from the brunt of the attack, but she was blown halfway across the Acheron for her troubles. Phichit rarely pulled out his, much larger, crimson wings, but he too tried to protect his friend from the onslaught by pulling Yuuri in a close embrace and wrapping his red wings around the shivering God of Death. Yuuri tried to close his eyes against the wind, but they were frozen open. He wondered if he would die from the inability to blink. Stars knew it hurt everywhere, the arresting cold seeping into his joints and deep into his core.

_“Wait, where is Vicchan? Shouldn’t he be here to guard Yuuri from attacks just like this?” gasped Iokaste._

_“Uhhhh, no. Triple threat has to do double duty of guarding the gates to the Underworld AND guarding the gates of Tartarus when those Titan fuckers get restless. Shit, even sleepy Mnemosyne could overthrow time itself should she wake from her beauty nap! So Vicchan has his hands, er, paws full to deal with a rogue blowhard. Besides, Yuuri should be able to smack his ass back to the north pole quicker than Emil gets naked at one of Chris’s parties. Anyways, the motherfucking hero of the day is about to roll in,” said the storyteller, a wide grin split his face and green sparks of challenge lit bright in his eyes._

  

A golden arrow, silvered in moonlight, shot a hair’s breadth away from Yakov’s ear, snipping a frozen lock of hair off before pegging it to the wall behind Yuuri’s head, cutting Yakov’s attention enough to release his hold on the wind. As Yakov whipped around to face this new attacker, he found himself staring down a golden shaft, fletched in purest white, directly into the snarling face of the Lord of the Hunt; his glade green eyes cold and murderous.

  

“The fuck’re ya doing Yakov? Stop freezing everyone’s balls off! I don’t care if Yuuri fucked your mother, shit on your doorstep or kissed your fucking cousin or anything like that,” Yurio circled warily around the aging wind god to angle himself between Yuuri and his assailant. “You don’t fucking treat Yuuri like that. Period.”

  

Lips still purplish blue despite the cease fire, Yuuri was pretty sure he heard Yakov’s patience snapping as a vein in the wind god’s temple popped in aggravation. “YURI STAY OUT OF THIS! I warn you do not interfere. This is between me and Yuuri. I’ll pull my valued assistance I give to you during your hunts,” Yakov growled.

_“Wait wait, I thought we were calling Artemis Yurio and Hades Yuuri, when did that change?” asked Admetos confusedly._

_The storyteller chuckled low. “Fucking Yakov apparently didn’t get the Yurio/Yuri/Yuuri memo. His dialogue really does say ‘Yuri’ and everywhere else in this story it’s fucking ‘Yurio this,’ and ‘Yurio that,’ and ‘oh Yurio’s such an awesome badass,’ so just for this interaction, wrap your nerdy minds around two cool-as-fuck Yuri’s.”_

  

“I don’t care if your winds make my prey slow and stupid, upwind or downwind of me; I’d rather have some challenge during the hunt anyway, doesn’t matter,” said Yurio as he aimed his arrow point right between Yakov’s watery blue eyes, then moved it up a few inches and released a shot, taking the last few strands of Yakov’s thinning hair on his balding head. “What fucking DOES matter is you stepping on Yuuri’s realm, spitting on his rule, and letting loose some batshit crazy weather in here. He’s fucking amazing Original Olympian Pantheon and he has done more shit in one second of his lifetime than you have in the mere thousand years you have been around, old man. Do you beat back titans and other horrible monsters every single fucking day? No? Then Step The Fuck Off.” The shining string on Yurio’s bow creaked as the tension increased.

_“YEAH YOU JUST GOT SERVED OLD MAN! Now get the fuck out Yakov!” The storyteller’s outburst startled the students who giggled nervously at their response._

  

Yakov gaped and sputtered. “Yuri, mark my words, you’ll pay for this.” Then he took Yurio’s oh-sosubtle hint and booted himself out the door.

  

If Yuuri were warmer, his blood not nearly iced over, he would have blushed from Yurio’s rant. He hardly thought he warranted such forceful words; shit he hardly thought any of the younger gods even paid him any mind except to clamber over his corpse to claim his seat in the pantheon, yet here was one such god, only a couple hundred years in the pantheon, who was lavishing praise and accolades in his name. “Yurio,” he breathed, bewildered.

  

As Yurio calmed himself down from his tirade, Yuuri noticed how he guiltily froze and an embarrassed blush spread like wildfire across his cheeks. “I-I mean, he was fuckin’ disrespectful. _I’m_ the one who gets to castigate others, not him! And you!” Yurio rounded on Yuuri. “Why were you just standing there like a frozen fucktard? I’ve seen you use just a fraction of your powers, you could have swatted him like a fly, but _NO_ ya didn’t!” Yurio’s tone was harsh, almost accusatorial.

  

But the next word from his mouth was soft, vulnerable. “Why?” Emerald green eyes met chocolate brown and Yuuri was surprised to see Yurio’s brow pinched in worry.

  

His change in demeanor make Yuuri pause. He thought he didn’t matter to anyone other than his close friends, yet Yuuri saw reverence bright in the hunter god’s eyes. The blonde god narrowed his eyes as he studied Yuuri’s expression, trying to divine Yuuri’s hesitancy. Letting Yurio in on his secret died before he even tasted the words on his tongue. To let him in on his mistakes and foolhardy decisions, well, he couldn’t disappoint anyone with a face like that. If only Yurio’s praise of his powers were true; well, true in the sense that he could use his overwhelming powers without burning out like the world’s brightest lightbulb.

_Iokaste scratched his head at the unfamiliar word. “What’s-”_

_“Er, not lightbulb,” the storyteller interrupted, “No electri-FUCK. It’s the world’s biggest and brightest bonfire; yeah that’s what the author meant. Take that down, bonfire.”_

  

“Hey Baby Yuri,” Phichit jumped in to help Yuuri deflect. The moniker made Yurio’s jaw drop, an affronted scowl smacked across his face so fast it gave him whiplash. The Lord of Love blithely skated past Yurio’s annoyance. “Tell me, what brought you to come visit _my lovely Yuuri_ ,” his tone and wolfish grin said in no small words ‘back off, hunterboy’ as the air took on his signature overly-sweet floral scent. “If it’s to convince Yuuri to attend to your little pissing-contest hunt, don’t worry, _we’re_ coming,” Phichit pulled in Yuuri into a tight shoulder hug and nuzzled into his neck.

  

While Yuuri often tolerated Phichit’s flirty approach with him, this was posturing in the loosest sense of the word and out of character even for Phichit. That the Lord of Love behaved so strangely confused Yuuri, so he pasted on an embarrassed smile, which seemed to make Yurio even more uncomfortable. The hunter’s piercing green gaze flicked between him and Phichit; Yuuri could see the moment where Yurio came to a decision, the mask of belligerent indifference slid back on with almost an audible click.

  

“Tch. Whatever. It’s not like I care if you losers show up or not,” Yurio mumbled as he kicked at a non-existent stone. “I’ll kick Otabek’s ass at hunting all the way to Olympus and back! So don’t you _dare_ show up the next crescent moon or I’ll banish you down to run with the swine!” The God of the Hunt flung himself out of Yuuri’s chamber, drawing a cloak made of rejection and nettlesome reaction as his armor as he stormed away.

_“What caused that complete turn around? One minute he was scared for Yuuri, the next he insulted him,” complained Iokaste._

_The storyteller paused and tightened his lips; his hands trembled as they fisted the edges of the scroll. “He didn’t fucking know any of what his friend was going through. Okay?”_

_“But, they aren’t really friends, are they? I mean Yuuri barely noticed Yurio at the banquet. Surely if they were friends, Yuuri would have greeted him. And,” the eager student pushed on, “if he was really Yuuri’s friend, shouldn’t he have noticed that Yuuri wasn’t okay, right?” pressed Iokaste. As the storyteller’s demeanor plunged darkly, Kinesias – Kin as everyone called him – gave Iokaste a worried look._

_The storyteller looked about two matches away from blowing his top. “Listen fuckwit, he’s the Lord of the Hunt, not fucking Cassandra ‘oooo I know the future but can’t fucking tell anyone about the bad shit about to go down. noooooooo.’ You damned better be sure he is Yuuri’s friend, and a much better one than that prancing Love God sticking his fucking nose in everyone’s business. Just Fucking Drop it,” growled the storyteller as he almost tore the scroll in half._

_Iokaste opened his mouth to debate the point – as they had been taught in their Socratic seminars – but stopped immediately when Kinesias dropped a weighty hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Iokaste quieted, Kin didn’t speak often, but everyone paid attention to his actions, for he was the most level-headed of their entire cohort._

_“Yurio is Yuuri’s friend, that’s final, end of story,” said the storyteller as he huffed in annoyance._

  

As soon as the hunter god was out of their sight, Yuuri pushed Phichit away, none to lightly. “Care to explain what that little power play was about?” he folded his arms and leveled a flat gaze on his flirtatious friend.

  

Phichit took a moment to consider his response, flapping to stay in place mid-air – he often kept his wings tucked away, so flying always felt like a novelty – but instead of keeping to the point at hand, he spotted Yuuri’s belongings in the Acheron and made a big show of the ordering Mila to rescue the books and pomegranates from the deathly waters.

  

Yuuri recognized the deflection for what it was and let it slide. When Yuuri would go into full-blown panic mode, Phichit let Yuuri keep his thoughts to himself, often resorting to holding him when Yuuri needed the silent support, so the God of Love was allowed his secrets too. He’d let Phichit keep his own counsel, rather than push him and risk losing the one and only friend he had.

_The students heard the grinding pop from the storyteller’s jaw, but when Iokaste drew breath to speak, he was cut off with a bitten “-Don’t. Don’t say a fucking single thing,” said the storyteller. Heaving a heavy sigh, Admetos just barely heard the storyteller mumble “Dammit Yuuri, you’re not so alone. Rely on others.”_

* * *

 

  

As the God of Love returned to Olympus, bathed in the bright golden light, Phichit mulled over Yuuri’s reactions, turning them over and over in the light to see new facets. To draw even the notoriously prickly-hearted Yurio’s attention – and Phichit was certain he recognized the tender buds of affection – it was like Yuuri had been graced with an intrinsic magnetism, gods of all inclinations were drawn to him, pulled by his gravity. Though if he were to point it out, Yuuri would furiously deny and burrow so deeply in his realm it would be centuries before he would see his best friend. He knew how clueless Yuuri could be when it came to himself, but this was going to an all new level, even for him.

  

Phichit congratulated himself on his quick-thinking when he fended off the naïve bite-sized Baby Yuri- 

_Baby fucking Yuri, my ass,” growled the storyteller._

  

-not that Phichit ever expected Yurio to act on any nascent feelings he may have for Yuuri.

  

No, better to redirect. A gruff bark caught his attention and he saw Almaty _(Sirius)_ and Otabek across the plaza. Otabek would shoot a globe that shone like a star across the golden lawn and Almaty would dash to rip it out of the very air, his sleek black coat absorbing all light. The starry-eyed hunter _did_ join Yurio on his grand hunts. Phichit stopped to take in the entirety of the celestial hunter, from his starred golden sandals, biceps that grapefruit were envious of, all the way to his omni-present resting bitch face – Phichit would love to see that face in the throes of passion, but he would settle for seeing it in the first blush of love.

  

Maybe now was the time to move on those plans, Phichit tapped his finger to his lips and a slow smile crept across his face. He started humming a swinging song about finding love beyond the [sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bRAtV-jgoQ). A bubble of excitement rose within him as he pictured the pairing, painting the ship name proudly on the bow so gods could steer clear of his beautiful new ship, Phichit steaming along in the captain’s seat. Yes and yes! And what a ship it will be, Olympus won’t know what hit them.

  

He pulled out a stack of invitations, shuffled through the gilded edges and pulled the one for Yurio’s hunt. His eyes flashed as he stuck the corner of the invite in his mouth while he put away the rest.

  

But first, he had a date to keep with Viktor; one that Viktor didn’t know he was about to go on. He flicked the invitation and his reply now included a +1.

_The students ringed around the fire all stared expectantly at the storyteller, like they knew he was going to comment on the God of Love’s plans. However, he was conspicuously intent on reading the story. He did not make eye contact with any of the boys._

* * *

 

  

For the rest of the day, Mila delivered sopping wet books to Yuuri, who bemoaned their ruined state. The first edition – well, the first time it was ever written down, really – of Aeschylus’s newest work, the Myrmidons and Nereids, gone. Same with the prequel play to Sophocles’s Oedipus Rex, which he thought was better at conveying human tragedy than Oedipus Rex.

_“Everyone knows the prequels are dumb, stupid Yuuri. Especially when it comes to wars in the stars,” vehemently muttered the storyteller._

_Pheres gazed skyward. “That’s no moon,” he murmured._

_The storyteller chuckled at the prophet. “Damn straight it’s no fucking moon at all,” he gave a thumbs up to Pheres._

_No one knew what they were going on about, so they ignored the pair of them._

  

-At least the newly-built Royal Library of Alexandria made copies of many of the books in his library, so hopefully he could rebuild most of his destroyed collection.

  

The pomegranates, however, gave him pause as Mila shuffled in with an armful of fruit black as night. Rather than the regular ruby red color, steeping them in the Acheron appeared to intrinsically change the fruit. When he split one open, the seeds glowed from within a low, but steady, garnet light. So engrossed in this new discovery, he didn’t notice when Mila quietly left him to marvel at the laid bare pomegranate.

  

When he planted seeds plucked straight off the trees in Viktor’s Folly, the resulting shriveled blackened seeds echoed the twisted dark tunnels running through his realm, these black pomegranates seemed to absorb the deathly power of the Acheron. In sponging up the waters, the seeds within gained new powers. Though he had yet to test them out, Yuuri was certain they would grow, even thrive, in his realm. And that is something Viktor couldn’t do, Yuuri thought with no small amount of triumph.

* * *

 

  

A few days later he stood back, wiping sweat from his brow, pleased with the rows upon rows of mounded soil that ran alongside the Acheron. He smiled as he thought how surprised shades and visitors will be when they descend into his realm, cross the lightly-glowing blue waters to find a lush and flourishing pomegranate orchard bearing not standard reddish pomegranates, but an entirely new black-skinned adaptation. He also latently wondered what other powers they may have.

  

For now he was content to just watch them grow and not once did his thoughts stray darkly to the instigator of his orchard. Instead, every time he checked up on his tiny trees, he felt a surge of affection for the growing plants. Oddly enough, he also felt that same fluttery affection when he thought of Viktor, hands planted into the glowing earth, growing the forest of pomegranate trees; but Yuuri dismissed the emotion. He obviously transferred his proud elation at accomplishing something not thought possible – living, thriving plants growing in the underworld – onto the god whose fault it was in the first place. No, fault wasn’t the right word. The god who incited Yuuri into action, that’s a much better phrase to describe the silver-haired Viktor, Yuuri decided.

  

His orchard grew at an astonishing speed and soon Mila was fluttering up to harvest the tops of trees 10 meters in the air. Each tree bearing the black pomegranates, each pomegranate bearing glowing garnet-red seeds. Mila wanted to try a bite, but Yuuri stopped her before the fruit reached her lips. He was nervous about the effect of the Acheron on the fruit. True, he hadn’t felt any different after _he_ ate these new pomegranates.

_“IDIOT! You tried them yourself?! You’re fucking mortal! What if you had killed yourself, huh? Then where would we have been?” shouted the storyteller to the impassive scroll, the students jumped at the outburst._

_“He has a kind soul,” rumbled Kinesias, drawing the immediate attention of everyone, particularly the storyteller._

_Green eyes flashing, the storyteller sighed before a genuine smile spread over his face. “Yeah, he is, but what makes you say that?”_

_“He’d rather put his own life on the line than anyone else’s, including a Psychopomp who is immortal. If that’s not kindness…” the mountain of a youth trailed off as he noticed the scrutiny of his peers. Iokaste flashed Kin the brightest smile, which caused the man to blush._

  

They tasted like Viktor’s unique delicious scent, Yuuri noted, but with an aftertaste of death on the back of his tongue. Still, he wanted more experimentation before he would allow Mila – really any living thing, god or human – to try them out.

  

The shades extreme interest in the fruit was unusual byproduct. They swarmed to the pomegranates like Celestino to a virginal bath house, fondling and manhandling the fruit as they passed through to his throne room. So far it didn’t seem to harm them, which relived Yuuri. They were under his care and, with his restricted power use, he didn’t know if he could help them if they became infected with some strange disease. Still he kept a close eye on them when Mila guided them through the orchard.

  

Much to Mila’s fretting distress, a young shade, no more than four-years-old at his death, broke away and climbed to the top of one of the trees and sat there staring over the Acheron, eating a pomegranate. Biting his lower lip, Yuuri worried about what would happen to the young shade. Shades weren’t _meant_ to eat anything, they had no corporeal body, no corporeal digestive system – thank the stars for that because if Yuuri had to clean up any luminescent blue shade poop, he’d gladly hand Viktor his realm and title. Yuuri shuddered thinking of his own “fun and educational” experiences with bodily functions.

_“Yeah, where does Yuuri do his, erm, duties, in the underworld? Does he have to dig his own latrines or does he make Mila?” asked Iokaste, ever the inquiring student._

_“Ew, gross! Thanks for asking the question that no-one wanted the answer to, poindexter. Shit if I know!” sneered the storyteller as he swiped his hand across his nose. Then he paused, and, looking around conspiratorially, added “but he does have a shit-ton of endless pits of nothingness. Well, I suppose they’re shit holes, shit pits?”_

_The storyteller managed to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before he, and the rest of the group all broke into hysterical fits of laughter. Even Kinesias clutched at his sides and guffawed. His bellowing sonorous laughter warmed Iokaste; purely because Kin didn’t speak, let alone laugh much; at least that’s what Iokaste told himself._

  

Speaking in low, calming tones, Yuuri managed to coax the shade down into his arms. Yuuri stiffened at the expected flood of emotions, but no attack or onslaught overwhelmed Yuuri. Instead, the shade’s mild curiosity and momentary panic at the moment of his death gently suffused Yuuri; his robes coloring a light pastel blue with tiny flecks of crimson red flowering across his shoulders. Not at all like the deeply-charged emotions of his regular shades. Colors so bright and saturated they jumped the reader in the backs of alleyways.

  

When Mila tried to pull away the shade-child for sorting, he burrowed close to Yuuri and shoved his face into Yuuri’s neck. “Can’t I stay here?” asked the shade.

  

“Since when do shades have an opinion on where they go?” asked Mila, her eyebrows up in her hairline.

  

Taking a hard look at the shade-child, he replied, “They don’t.” Yuuri stared at the child, then the half-eaten pomegranate in the shade’s hand.

  

Was this a property of the adaptation? Without more experimentation, he couldn’t be sure, but he was willing to bet it was. Could this mean that shades could “live” full and productive “lives” even after death? And wouldn’t the pantheon be blown away at this new revelation. His eyes brightened and he clenched a fist in determination. Hours upon hours of experimentation, his back creaking as he planted row after row, seed after seed to create this copious underworld orchard. All his hard work…so worth it. Viktor, glowing hands thrust in the dirt, flashed through Yuuri’s mind and he gasped lightly as he realized…

  

It was all due to Viktor.

* * *

 

  

The crescent moon gave off little light as Yuuri nervously paced along the fringes of their little group. He didn’t want to be there, in that forest, at night where any number of things that could kill him hid behind every tree; no, he _really_ didn’t want to be there. Not when he had valuable experiments going on with his new orchard, but Phichit needled him into coming, claiming he was becoming too much of a recluse and that the younger gods won’t even recognize him in Olympus when Yuuri showed for official events. The thought of anonymity appealed to Yuuri, until he realized it meant Viktor would finally get his wish: forcing Yuuri off his seat at the table of elders.

  

He had better places to be than with these two amethyst-eyed twins, the cool-faced Seung-Gil and his captivating husband, Emil. Intellectually Yuuri knew Emil used his powers of attraction to capture god’s attentions, but it didn’t mean that Yuuri was immune to them. Every god at least had a tiny crush on Emil and the God of Sex and Allure relished it with every cheerful wink he threw at the blushing Yuuri as they waited for their hosts.

_“BLUGH! Now I need to wash my brain from the image of Emil hitting on Yuuri and Yuuri low-key falling for it,” said the storyteller while he rushed outside the circle of firelight and made fake puking noises. Ever the older brother of whatever group he found himself in, Kinesias stepped out to check on him. Out of the darkness and just beyond clear recognition of words Iokaste could hear their quiet murmured conversation, a tiny thread of jealousy sprouted at the thought of the elfinly handsome storyteller ensnaring the subdued mountain of a student._

_When they returned, the storyteller flashed a thumbs up at Kinesias before squatting beside the fire with the scroll. “Why the fuck does everyone hit on Yuuri? You’d have thought HE was Eros and not that flaming git Phichit!” the storyteller scowled and spat into the fire, making it flare green in response. “Yeah, he’s got thighs that could choke a Pegasus and the soft way he moves his body just-” green eyes flared as he noticed the group staring at him._

_A fierce blush set across his face as he averted his eyes. “Well I’m just saying not everyone likes all….” he waved his hand indistinctly in front of him, “….THAT. So why does Yuuri capture so many gods…attention?”_

_Admetos stood up, Pheres holding his hand like a life-line, which Admetos gives it a squeeze before taking a breath. “I-I think it’s because, even though he struggles, has faults, anxieties, and makes mistakes, he keeps trying. Yes, he trips up and yeah he may have a misguided sense of love right now, but at least he’s trying to find his place in the world around him, not dominating it like other gods like Celestino or the Moirai, but by understanding it. If I had to write a treatise about Hades prior to this story, I would have focused on his detached and deathly attitude toward stealing Persephone, or denying Orpheus…returning Eurydice to the Underworld, as a foil to compassion and the human condition. That’s all we had to read about Hades in our studies of the gods; just two major stories,” Admetos looked around and saw his fellow students nodding. “He’s literally the Unseen God; but he’s unseen because he’s trying to make it better for his realm and his shades without caring for his personal image in Olympus or the scholarly writings of men. And even though man hasn’t had any insight into his character before, I’m sure it hasn’t gone unnoticed in Olympus. They all respect him for his efforts. Of all the gods, he’s the most human.” Admetos scratched nervously at his patchy beard and quickly sat back down from his rhetoric._

_When the group refocused on the storyteller, his mouth was left to gape open, the blush back up to the tips of his ears. His emerald gaze softens and a small smile plays on his lips. “Yeah, what you said.” And then the story continued._

  

Then of course Phichit vanished the moment they arrive, leaving Yuuri high and dry in what was certain to be another awkward social situation for him to navigate alone. It was like that one time where Phichit convinced him to go to one of Celestino’s blow-out parties celebrating yet another fuck in the hay, but then the Lord of Love attached himself to one of Mari’s Atlantean mermen not more than 10 minutes into the damned party. Denied Phichit as his buffer, Yuuri found his way to the bar and the next morning he woke with aching, chaffed thighs and the most blistering headache he’d ever experienced; bleary writing from someone smeared on his arm. It’d been nearly a month later that Phichit turned up on his doorstep, covered in round sucker-like marks and blissed-out beyond belief. Phichit had promised he would never ever leave Yuuri in the lurch like that, but here he was doing it again! Was his best friend finally getting fed up with him? The thought hurt.

  

The silver lining to this outing: at least he was spared spending time with Viktor, he thought with a small amount of relief. If he saw Viktor, he’d have to, Yuuri groaned….. _thank him_ for the pomegranates – yes, Yuuri discovered this adaptation, but he didn’t want Viktor to get all cocky on him. Best be quick and to the point when next he saw the silver-haired God of Perfection, get in there, thank him, get out. Done and done. No need to stay and watch the superior, uppity smile spread across his flawless face, his glittering blue eyes dance in merriment as Yuuri was forced to eat crow; no, nothing that Yuuri wanted to see. No need for Yuuri’s heart to flutter either, but it was having a hard time listening as it pictured a very different smile on Viktor’s face, one warm, quick to spread and gently heart-shaped. Yuuri had been on the receiving end of that smile once, before Yuuri fell, before Viktor had humiliated Yuuri for what he could only assume was a coup on his realm and power. Why else had Viktor studied Yuuri and hung around his realm?

  

But before Yuuri could examine that line of thought more thoroughly, the God of the Hunt melted in from the surrounding forest. One had to squint to properly see Yurio; his short robes – better to chase his quarries down – shifting in greens and browns to match the forest backdrop. Wrapped around his shoulders like it belonged there was a cream-colored cat, long in hair with dark points on its extremities. It surveyed the group with disdain only a cat – and Yurio – could muster. As its searchlight bright blue gaze swept over Yuuri, he suddenly felt like he should run to the closest stand of bushes and hide.

  

Only bellicose Michele _(Ares)_ stared the cat down without flinching before he smirked. “Aw, who brings a cute little kitty cat to a hunt?” he scoffed derisively.

  

Legendary was Yurio’s temper and the rest of their oddball group held its breath as Yurio slowly reached up to soothe his cat as it turned to whisper something in Yurio’s ear. The air charged with the scent of crushed cypress and Yurio’s emerald gaze glowed in the near darkness. He nodded once, then, scrutinizing the tanned God of War, shook his head. “Her name’s Puma Tiger Scorpion _(Manticore)_ or Pyotya for you fucking plebs and you better stay out of her way on the hunt. She’ll take on whomever gets in her way!” As Yurio finished, his “cute little kitty” leapt from his shoulders. As she flowed to the ground her muscles bulged and grew and her fluffy cream coat sleeked down to midnight blue-black with umber red stripes along her flanks, her once-furry seal-colored tail armored into a scorpion tail as thick as Yuuri’s thigh-

_“Pretty damned thick and believe me, she’s as deadly as she sounds. You don’t fuck with her or she’ll make you wish you hadn’t been born. Ahhhh, it just makes me shiver in antici-” a beat, then three. The group leaned in. “-pation,” he whispered. Tension, pent-up, now suddenly released with their collective breath they all didn’t realize they were holding._

  

-as thick as Yuuri’s thigh raised high in the air until her shoulders nearly brushed the tips of Yurio’s ears. Her face held the same intelligence as one would expect a monstrous creature of the highest caliber. Her sky-blue eyes glowed with the same intensity as her owner. Michele backed warily away from her, but his hand strayed closer to his short spear. She growled a warning and coiled front legs under her chest, her muscles rippling under her velvety fur.

  

Certain blood was going to fly, Yuuri started gathering power to intervene in this foolish fight, though he broke out into a flop sweat as it made his head swim; he had to grab hold of a nearby tree to steady his rebellious legs. At the sudden draw of power, Seung-Gil gave Yuuri a sharp glance, but still braced Yuuri with a steady hand on his shoulder, for which Yuuri gave the Lord of the Forge a grateful look. They silently communicated with barely-there nods and micro expressions; Seung-Gil’s confused concern and Yuuri’s assurance that he really was okay.

  

But before Yuuri was forced into using his deadly energy, Emil stepped in front of the huge cat and with a blown kiss and a move no-one could quite see, wrestled her into chin scritches. Astonished, Yurio’s mouth fell open as his killer kitty melted in a puddle of rumbling purring only _he_ should be privy to. It seemed gods weren’t the only creatures under the spell of the God of Attraction.

  

Face down close to Pyotya’s, Emil assured the giant cat. “Now, now. Mickey didn’t mean his remark. He’s always going off half-cocked anyway,” said Emil with a wink thrown at Michele. “So hey, are you going to tell us why we’re all here?” he jovially asked Yurio.

  

The scowl twisting Yurio’s face was legendary. “Otabek’s fucking late,” grumbled Yurio. “Whole thing was his idea and now he’s late?”

  

“Just fashionable late darling,” called Phichit in a sing-song voice as he emerged nestled between Otabek and Viktor, his hands snaked over the swell of each of their hips. Yuuri couldn’t see Viktor’s hand, but he imagined it was fondling Phichit’s assets. When Viktor only spared a glance at Yuuri and turned to whisper something to the God of Love, Yuuri was too tired to fight against the tide of jealousy that reared its head.

  

After all, Phichit had been making all the young gods swoon for as long as Yuuri had known him. Though he was loathe to admit it even to himself, Yuuri carried a seed of envy toward Phichit for his outgoing nature that drew gods to him like cool ambrosia on a hot, humid day. The dynamic attraction that Phichit possessed eluded Yuuri; why anyone would pursue the creepy God of Death was simply beyond the realm of possibility.

  

As soon as Otabek spied Yurio, he quickly pulled away with a slight flush on his chest and neck. On Otabek’s skin it shouldn’t have been noticeable, but his midnight blue robes only served to accentuate the coloration of his skin, like a blushing rose stark in the night sky. Face unreadable, he dipped his head in apology, which only served to enrage the diminutive hunter who shouted about ‘fucking respect’ and ‘losing the best time of the night.’

  

Phichit jumped in – thankfully releasing his hold on Viktor – to defuse the situation. “Our little God of Spring doesn’t have much in the way of night eyes, so I took pity on the poor fool and soon he was eating from the palm of my hand,” he grinned cheekily as he nuzzled into Viktor’s neck, a move Yuuri thought had been reserved for him alone. He couldn’t fight the pained sigh that squeezed from his lungs.

  

The small nervous laugh that fell from Viktor’s lips only served to twine around his heart and squeeze. When the two of them gazed at each other, Yuuri felt like the forest was folding him into its heart, cut-off from the cheerful banter that seemed to flow from everyone but him. Yuuri thought it would get easier the more he distanced himself from others, shield himself within his realm, but now Phichit knew exactly how to cut him to the quick by taking up with the thoroughly puzzling, infuriating, dazzling Viktor.

  

And the cut of it was that Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure of whom he was jealous, Viktor for stealing his supposed best friend, or Phichit for fraternizing with the enemy! Stars, he was just talking with Phichit about how frustrated he was with Viktor’s actions and now he dangled him on his arm like a flashy new bit of jewelry. And he bared his teeth as he thought of Viktor using his friend as another rung in the ladder of ambition.

  

How did they even come together? Had it been Phichit’s move, or did Viktor flash the dark-haired god one of those stupidly wonderful heart-shaped smiles? The more he thought about it, the tighter his chest felt and soon he was taking breaths in tiny gasps. Yuuri was so focused on the distance between the two of them – not enough – that he didn’t notice how his fingers dug into the tender bark of the tree he still clung to. Nor did he notice the subtle bleaching of color surrounding his fingers, the bark shriveled and dead-bone white.

  

It wasn’t until Yurio suddenly shot Phichit in the chest with a bright yellow arrow that Yuuri was pulled back into the here and now. All the unkind thoughts were washed away as he saw Phichit stumble.

  

“NO!” he cried as he rushed to his friend’s side only to be greeted by Phichit yanking the arrow out, which left a bright yellow stain on his favorite sparkly red robes, a severe frown clear on the God of Love’s face. Yuuri let out a huge shaky breath as he knocked his head – immortal, duh.

  

“ _These_ are your marks? You’d better have magic eraser arrows for yourself if this doesn’t come out, hunterboy! If this is how you intend to count which hunter “gets the mark,” then I am not sacrificing _MY_ best robes for it! I’ll be watching you Yurio, but I’ll do it from the comfort of someone else’s bed!” and with that he left again, but not before he shot Viktor a pointed wink, who blushed quite nicely.

  

“Phichit! I’m sure Yurio didn’t mean anything by shooting you. Hey, Phichit wait!” called Sara _(Athena)_ with a slight pout. “Aw, it’ll be boring without him.” She turned back to Michele with a flippant humph. Michele tightly crossed his arms as he stared after the God of Love.

  

The plan, Yuuri quickly caught on, was to “hunt” the assembled gods with special mark arrows that couldn’t hurt immortals-

_“But Yuuri’s not immortal, so wouldn’t the arrows really harm him? Why would Yurio and Otabek use such dangerous marks? Why not use little balls of ink; harmless to mortals?” asked Iokaste, his brows pinched in concern._

_“Well since a certain God of Death didn’t, oh I don’t know,_ TELL FUCKING ANYONE _about his situation, how could they know their arrows could kill Yuuri?” fumed the storyteller. “And why aren’t we asking about Yuuri’s so-called best friend who_ LEAVES _knowing those arrows could kill him, huh? Why is that not a hot topic?” Almost in reaction, the flames sparked and flared intensely and the storyteller squeezed his eyes shut._

_He sniffed and rubbed his nose as he tried to slow his breathing. His brows were pinched and quivering. “Just so ya know, if Yurio knew, he would have called the whole fucking thing off. He wouldn’t intentionally hurt Yuuri….really, you have to know that,” his voice so small at the end._

_“We do,” was Kinesias’s low reply._

  

-because apparently deer and other wildlife were “too fucking easy” for hunters of Yurio and Otabek’s caliber. Yuuri imagined sharp death by colorful arrows, how droll, to shove off this mortal coil in a puff of color. How appropriate that he discovered a unique property of his black fruit, only to die before he could test it out. He started to curl in on himself as he could feel the imminence of his death pressing down. He wanted to say something, stop the hunt so he could crawl back home, but he choked on the words; his power smothering and threatening to overtake his senses. He didn’t even call for the energy this time, so why was it writhing just below his skin.

  

Yuuri could feel Viktor’s gaze burning him, but when he shot a look through his eyelashes at him, the gild-haired god was focused on Yurio who was ranting about even numbers and ties. “Well what if we paired up? There’s three groups, the first hunter to mark two groups wins,” offered Viktor brightly.

  

Otabek considered a moment and nodded “I’ll go along with that. Are those terms acceptable Yura?” he said, his hand dropping down to twine in Almaty’s shaggy fur.

  

“Don’t fucking call me that _Beka_ ,” cat-called Yurio, “and it doesn’t matter if it’s two groups or two hundred more than you, I’ll beat you regardless.”

  

As the hunters “debated” – really, Yurio shouted and Otabek countered coolly – the finer points of scoring, Yuuri noticed Viktor, dirt rimmed the edges of his fingernails, fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves, scrutinizing it before the God of Spring’s gaze magnetically found Yuuri once again. Oceanic eyes met Earthen and the earth hastily pulled away before he was consumed by those bright pools, swallowed by the greed of the sea. Yuuri felt another twinge in his chest as he again peered through his lashes up at Viktor. He was startled to find Spring flushed deep scarlet, covering his face with a hasty palm across his nose, but given that it went all the way up to his ears, he was failing miserably in his attempt to cover his…..interest? Embarrassment? Seeing Viktor so ridiculously flustered made a bubble of unexpected laughter well up within Yuuri. He tried to hold it back, but that just made the situation even more hilarious to the God of Death, which served to make Viktor flush even deeper, and so on and so forth until Yuuri had tears streaming down his face in repressed laughter. If Yuuri had been paying attention, he would have noticed Viktor’s eyes dance in joy.

  

It wasn’t until Viktor hastily grabbed his hand and stalked off into the forest that jolted Yuuri from his laughing spree. “Come on, we have to move quickly to get you away from the hunters. We only have an hour before they begin their hunt,” said Viktor, the darkness of the forest masked the determined line of his lips.

  

Taking a single step, Viktor pulled Yuuri along as they covered 100 meters in a flash. It seemed Viktor wanted to be as far away from the hunters as possible in such a flagrant use of his powers. Yuuri never enjoyed traveling like this, preferring to walk “normal” speeds, but here, his hand wrapped tightly in Viktor’s; the rush was incomparable. It was as if he’d leapt from the tallest peak in Olympus, not caring what lay below him, and found he could soar.

  

Glen and glade flashed by, but his vision, adapted to the low shade lights, afforded him the ability to see the wondrous places attended by Naiads and Dryads. It wasn’t until the second time they nearly slammed into a tree that Yuuri remembered Phichit’s flippant comment about Viktor’s night blindness that made him pull back hard. Viktor stumbled just before his next “step” and he quickly checked on Yuuri, his hand trembling and his breathing came in great gasps.

  

“How do you expect to get anywhere when you can’t see more than five meters in front of your nose? Running isn’t going to solve anything,” he switched grips and struck out in the lead at a “normal” pace. They’d already covered several thousand meters, but Yuuri knew time and distance meant little to skilled hunters like Otabek and Yurio. It was better to find a defensive, hidden position and wait the night out. A deeply secluded small vale, so dark even Yuuri had trouble seeing, and a stream to cross to wash out any scents, it was perfect.

  

“If we- no, _when_ we win, the boon, it’s yours,” softly said Viktor, his voice clear and full of certainty. Yuuri glanced back and was startled by the bright determination shining in his azure eyes, but before Yuuri could ask about what boon Viktor was going on about, Viktor was already speaking in low, assured tones to a cluster of Dryads. For a brief moment, hope burned bright in Yuuri’s heart. Maybe they _could_ evade the hunters and Yuuri would live another day.

  

Following Viktor’s lead, Yuuri spoke to the Naiads, who all blushed watery blue in the face of Yuuri’s smile. They carried their scents far, far downriver and increased the noise of their stream. At the same time, the Dryads moved tree branches downward and bushes leaned closer to cover the entrance to the small vale. When Yuuri asked Viktor to create more cover brush, Viktor shook his head. New growth would carry traces of his powers, almost like an annoying blue fairy that follows you around saying “Hey look here! Godly powers in use!” while bopping you in the back of the head. Or something like that.

_“Blue fairy? What is that?” Iokaste asked._

_Admetos thought he could hear the storyteller’s molars crack as he mumbled things under his breath. Admetos only barely caught “f’ckin’ Navi” and “stupid f’ckin’ gamerhead Phichit.” When the storyteller caught Admetos staring at him, he shot an emerald glare to knock the breath from Admetos’s lungs_.

_“Nothing! Fairies totally aren’t tiny forest creatures who can grant wishes or give hearts or anything like that! And don’t you dare even say a single thing about Yurio being a fairy! Because he’s not. He’s a badass hunter supreme that just happens to prefer the forest to poncing around with those shitty-shitty-stupidfaces in Olympus,” ranted the storyteller._

_Rather than touch a flame to_ that _particular pile of dry wood, the students all slowly nodded and let the storyteller breathe out his frustration._

  

Their position set, Yuuri led the nearly blind Viktor back into their cozy vale; the darkness was perfect, he wouldn’t be dazzled by Viktor’s smiles, his soft skin, eyes that seemed to swallow Yuuri even as he wanted to dive into them. No, the darkness hid many things, like Yuuri’s light flush when he realized he still held Viktor’s hand, fingers twined, even after they had settled in, crouched to hide better. A tingling warmth flooded from his hand all through his body, and though some part of him wanted to clasp that warmth even tighter, his oh-so-helpful mind flashed images of humiliation: Viktor’s astonished face as Makkachin rushing the stage, Viktor’s inescapable gaze as he dropped him into the spring, Viktor forcing a forest on his lands.

  

He ripped his hand away like it had been burnt.

  

Yuuri felt a twinge curl in his gut when he heard Viktor, who had been conspicuously silent this entire time, softly gasp. Yuuri felt disappointed in himself. He knew he was being petty, but Viktor had a way of turning him from the distanced, rational god into this writhing jumble of emotions. Every time he encountered Viktor, his world was turned upside-down and Yuuri had to learn which direction was up, _again_. Even the thing with the pomegranates was upsetting the order he’d created, even as another part thrilled in the excitement of the undiscovered.

  

Shit, the pomegranate forest, Viktor’s Folly. Well, in with both feet, he steeled himself. He took a large breath and turned towards Viktor’s form. In the half light, Viktor’s eyes seemed to glow and he could see them widen and cast about as Viktor heard his shuffling, like he was desperately trying to see Yuuri as Yuuri could see him – he’d hoped Viktor’s features would be indistinguishable. Nonononono. Yuuri squeezed his eyes tight. It’s easier when he can’t see.

  

“Thankyouforthepomegranatetrees!” left Yuuri in one gasp. He kept his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be able to see that smug smile spread on Viktor’s face. A moment ticked by, then several more. Yuuri waited for the self-aggrandizing response. However, instead of the haughty laugh Yuuri expected, only tiny little choking noises left Viktor. Wait, choking noises? Had the hunters snuck up on them silently? Did they upset a Nymph? Yuuri’s heart beat a little faster.

  

His eyes flew open and he had already risen halfway to Viktor, power gathering, ready to strike down any assailant. What he found was a stunned Viktor, his eyes shining, a small smile played on his face; he’d raised a hand to his chest and pressed it there, like he was holding his heart in. Why would Viktor have that expression? Shouldn’t Viktor reserve an expression like that for his brand-spanking new relationship with Phichit? Just thinking about the two of them together made Yuuri draw back, shrink in on himself. He didn’t want to muddle with…whatever…they had going. Even if his chest tightened when he thought about it more.

  

“V-Viktor, um, are you okay?” asked Yuuri timidly.

  

The question seemed to startle movement back into the Lord Anew. “Yuuri, where-” started Viktor as he squinted, eyes searching. He was so comically bad at seeing in the dark that Yuuri grasped his hand. It was important that Viktor look at him, even if he can’t see Yuuri. He needed Viktor to know where he was.

  

What Yuuri didn’t expect was for Viktor’s hands to travel up to his face; gently holding Yuuri so he faced Viktor head-on. Those sapphire eyes locked on, no longer searching in the darkness.

  

“Yuuri, it _truly_ was worth-” began Viktor as he blindly regarded his deathly counterpart.

  

Even though Yuuri knew Viktor couldn’t possible see him, it felt like he was looking at the deepest part of him; the part he sheltered from his pestering siblings, from Mila, even from Phichit; the part where he felt so small and insignificant a thing, where he cried out for someone, anyone, to understand him. And it burned him, searing past all his barriers with an ease that it rocked him to the core. It terrified him.

  

“NO!” Yuuri shouted as he tore away from Viktor’s hold, his gaze bright and incandescent.

  

“Shhh!” Viktor hissed quietly, panic tugged at the edges of his whisper. Clutching at Yuuri’s robes, Viktor wrestled him down into a bush and palmed his mouth. The vale seemed to hold its breath. Trembling, Viktor pressed his full body onto Yuuri, trapping the God of Death under the blanket of Spring. That intoxicating scent of vanilla, bergamot and pomegranate pressed into Yuuri’s senses, overwhelming him. Why the fuck was he doing this? Viktor better have an explanation. Or perhaps Yuuri was to be his play-thing while Phichit was away.

  

For all his indignant protests as he struggled against the weight of the god above him, Yuuri felt a heat curling in his gut. His dick picked up _that_ message loud and clear as Viktor settled his pelvis against the jut of Yuuri’s hip bone. He was glad Viktor couldn’t see his crimson red face as he was suddenly very aware of each and every place the two of them touched. When Viktor’s arm lightly brushed against his chest, nipples separated from the other god with only a single, flimsy, might-as-well-not-even-exist layer of cloth, a shudder thrilled involuntarily through Yuuri. He tried to stifle a moan against the God of Spring’s palm and was surprised to see deep desire blown out in those now nearly-black eyes, only thin slivers of blue iris rimmed Viktor’s pupils. Yuuri could feel Viktor’s growing stiffness, a heavy pressure near his own, and dammit if his cock didn’t respond to that call either.

  

Yuuri was about to tell Viktor to get off – at least that’s what his rational mind said it was going to do; his carnal side wanted to get Viktor off in an entirely different manner – when a slipstream of air, barely more than a sigh of the forest, alerted them to the arrival of at least one of the hunters. Yuuri began to sweat for a different reason as visions of being arrow’d to death flashed colorfully through his mind. Something snuffed at the stream and soon they heard carefully-placed footsteps inside the vale. A crunch of dry grass, a rustle of leaves slipping against each other, all edging closer to their hidden bush at the back of the vale.

  

He couldn’t believe the nerve of Viktor, getting hot and heavy while Yuuri’s life played in the balance. For Viktor, this must be some exhilarating ride, eliciting these wanton reactions from Yuuri while the threat of the hunters caged them. Yuuri’s heart was beating entirely too fast. Was it their imminent discovery – and Yuuri’s possible demise – or Viktor’s heady presence? Barely visible, Yuuri could see Viktor turn his head, lips glistening in the half-light. So close Yuuri could smell the subtle undertones of dirt and earth in his personal scent. If Yuuri leaned his head just a fraction further… Yuuri had to bite his lower lip before another moan slipped away.

  

Viktor’s pale head dropped, words, barely formed fell almost unaudibly onto Yuuri’s neck; the heat of his breath tickling Yuuri’s ear. “I swear Yurio’s boon will be yours,” whispered Viktor before he launched himself up and took off running, he crashed through the underbrush, new bushes and trees sprouting with each step. He didn’t get more than 20 steps.

  

Dazed, Yuuri pushed himself up on his elbows only to see Viktor run through by two arrows, two colors, from two directions, exactly the same time. He couldn’t help the small cry that escaped his lips as Viktor fell into the underbrush and out of sight.

  

“Yeah! Who’s fast as fuck on the bow? Me, that’s who!” crowed Yurio, pumping his fist in the air. “Now where’s Death hiding? He can’t be far. Give up Otabek, I’m tagging Yuuri first!”

  

“If you’re looking for Yuuri, he left me ages ago!” called Viktor as he stumbled back up, back to Yuuri, bright green and yellow blotched on his robes. “Said my night blindness was slowing him down, so he took off to fend for himself.” Yuuri could hear the nervous edge in Viktor’s voice. The God of Perfection himself was lying, _lying_ to put the hunters off his trail!

  

He couldn’t fathom why Viktor was lie for him. He’s _Viktor_ , concerned only about grinding Yuuri into obscurity, sweeping the dust off his golden throne to rule over the realm of the dead. The god willing to shack up with Phichit to further his own position in Olympus. _This_ wasn’t Viktor….was it? This information didn’t sit well with Yuuri, but he didn’t really have the luxury of mulling it over while Yurio and Otabek were prowling for him.

  

Viktor plucked the colorful arrows out with a grimace as Yurio considered Viktor’s scenario. “Yeah, well he _does_ fucking hate your guts,” Yurio said with a cheerful thumbs up. Viktor flinched slightly. “Dammit! He's got a head start on me, which is more than he needs. Yuuri has priests in every town and village from here to the Sudan, he speaks a dozen languages, knows every local custom, he'll blend in, disappear, we'll never fucking see him again!” said Yurio with perhaps more enthusiasm than necessary, riding the wave of hero-worship.

_“Are we talking about the same Yuuri who can’t open a door without nearly dying from the ‘overwhelming power contained within’ because it seems Yurio has no clue what Yuuri is like in the real world,” said Admetos with a confused expression._

_“Did you fucking monkeys have your brains stuffed? When I say Yuuri is a badass motherfucker you don’t ever want to get on his bad side, you’d better listen! Not only could he do the things Iaaaai-ya-y-Yurio said he could do, but he also was on the front lines during the motherf’ckin’ battle for supremacy between the Titans and the Olympians. What, you think they handed out entire realms to just any five-and-dime god who washed bandages and recycled scrap metal back home? NO! Yuuri earned his fucking power, his fucking titles, his fucking realm through his own merits. So just because he’s gimped from using the majority of his powers right now doesn’t mean he wasn’t totally fucking rad in his time. Another word dismissing Yuuri and I fucking strand you nerds in the deepest, darkest forest I can find, GOT IT?”_

_Blowing like one of Yakov’s winds, the storyteller gripped his knees and shot a challenging glare to the group, all of whom quailed and nodded fearfully. The storyteller’s fierce gaze softened into just a pout. “As long as you all understand, then we can continue.”_

  

Yurio called Pyotya over and the God of the Hunt and his Puma Tiger Scorpion stalked away. In what must have been a trick of the light, Yuuri thought he saw a flash of red robes flip downward on a tree branch and something sparkling red zip to chase after Yurio. But as Yuuri rubbed his eyes, the sight was gone. Still, he thought he heard the faintest jazzy [melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua2k52n_Bvw) hummed over the breath of the forest.

  

Yuuri sagged as the adrenaline flooded from his system, his muscles suddenly loose and unwilling to respond to anything more than flopping about like a Nereid nymph on dry land. Crisis averted. No death awaited Yuuri on the end of a laughably vibrant arrow.

  

Then Yuuri heard the silvery sound of an arrow being drawn and he was suddenly staring down the end of a bright green arrow shaft. If Yuuri focused beyond that point, he would have seen Otabek’s stonewall face, but very pointy, very deadly things have a way of keeping his attention.

* * *

 

  

“And here’s where we stop fuckers,” smirked the storyteller. “And I don’t wanna hear you whining about stupid cliffhangers or anything like that! You won’t die by not hearing what happens next until tomorrow.”

  

But protest they did and soon the storyteller almost had a miniature riot on his hands.

  

“There you have it, Baby Storyteller. I left them on a cliffhanger once and they nearly devoured me the next night,” said the stranger, his skin no longer shriveled and the hunch in his back straight as a pin. Damn but he looked fine and young, which seemed to confuse the students, but when he caught Iokaste’s glance with his quick, dark gaze, Iokaste lit up.

  

“Ah it’s the first storyteller!” he said, a puppy smile on his face. “I hoped you’d come back soon! Will you tell us what happens to Yuuri? I don’t think I could sleep without knowing whether or not Otabek shot him!”

  

The dark storyteller sauntered over to the pale storyteller and wrapped a familial arm around his neck. Tan and cream skin complimented each other in the firelight. The original storyteller’s smile – all his teeth pearly and ordered – was generous and wide as the green-eyed storyteller tried to wrestle him off.

  

“Ah I missed you my babies, my delicious, strong, firm young bucks. Of course I’ll keep reading to you!”

  

“The fuck you will, it’s nearly midnight and they haven’t been traveling as fast as they need to reach Delphi; or did you fucking forget the schedule?” snapped the storyteller.

  

The original storyteller’s lips tightened as the familiar floral scent filtered through the air. “My, my, forgetting your manners to your elders so quickly? You forget yourself! I’m flattered you enjoy reading MY story to these fine young students, but your recitation lacks…..a certain loving touch, finesse, to truly bring these gods alive.”

  

But the new storyteller simply wasn’t going to back down at the lightest slight. And after an hour of back and forth where all but Iokaste and Kinesias had fallen asleep, the original storyteller gave up and put them also to bed with a huff at the new storyteller.

  

“Remember, I’m fucking watching you BABY YURI. This isn’t over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additions to our Pantheon (and some restatements to refresh memories):  
> Yakov (Boreas)  
> Almaty (Sirius, no, not that Sirius, Potterheads)  
> Michele (Ares)  
> Sara (Athena)  
> Emil (Aphrodite)  
> Seung-Gil (Hephaestus)  
> PUMA TIGER SCORPION aka Pyotya (Manticore)
> 
>  
> 
> Music used in this chapter:  
> Phichit plans: Bobby Darren [Beyond the Sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bRAtV-jgoQ)
> 
> Phichit in action: Nina Simone [I put a spell on you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua2k52n_Bvw)
> 
> And because I’m a sucker, I painted Pyotya or FUCKING [PUMA TIGER SCORPION](https://fiorelilyicecastle.tumblr.com/post/162189648720/for-those-who-are-still-with-me-on-all-things-must) (bless you Kubo-sensei for a pet name only a six-year-old, or Yurio, could dream up) 
> 
> I’ll try to get to Almaty sometime within the next week or so, just need to figure out what kind of dog Sirius would be (ya know, since it’s a frikken constellation…)
> 
> EDIT: I did a [Almaty painting](https://fiorelilyicecastle.tumblr.com/post/162659757265/fiorelilyicecastle-so-heres-another-little). I modeled the dog after the Tobet, a native Kazakhstan hunting dog! They have the cutest curlycue tails if they aren't docked. And the spots on him are _kinda_ similar to the Canis Major, aka Sirius constellation.


	7. You're fuel to my fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri dodges a bullet (arrow) and gets mopey. Mila convinces him to go crazy at a Bacchanal Festival full of all sorts of temptations. Yuuri challenges Viktor to a dance-off and things go further than Yuuri ever imagined. Or. PANTSOFFDANCEOFF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! So....*taps fingers nervously* you know how I mentioned upping the rating this next chapter....? well.....it won't for reasons. Mostly because what I have is a chock-full chapter already without going into the sexy stuff. I already was over on Word Count that I set for myself. And rather than spend even more time trying to trim out from the lead-up, I thought I will leave you with yet another cliffhanger.... *ducks*
> 
> BUT, I have already begun writing THAT SCENE and it should come out as chapter 7.5 within a week or so. I hope you don't hate me! But I really didn't want to force THAT SCENE onto the end of this chapter and cause this to come out weeks later, I thought this was a natural breaking point. I'm really NOT trying to make this a tease. Well, sorta a tease. 
> 
> ANYWAY, I hope you like it and I appreciate you all sticking with me and my slow AF posting schedule. 
> 
> ALSO, yes, there are four song queues in this chapter. They are specifically placed so that when you read it (at my reading pace anyways) they work in conjunction with the writing, so I really hope you take the time to listen to them while you read. Each song is ascribed to a different god, can you match them? :)

It was way too late, or way too early when Iokaste was rudely poked in the side, depending on how he viewed the situation. Kinesias, already up, ground the heel of his large palm banishing sleep from his eyes as he watched the storyteller – the one with a dark complexion and mischievous eyes – pull his tired companion up to a sitting position. The rest of their group still snoring.

  

He pulled them away from the dying fire, just a step outside the relative protection one feels from a lone fire in the woods “What is it? What troubles you to wake us during the night storyteller?” asked Iokaste, perhaps a tad fearfully.

 

But when the storyteller broke into a wide grin, they both relaxed. “Oh it’s nothing, really. And it’s a tiiiiiny spoiler, but the rest will find out when they all wake. Just wanted to let you know,” the storyteller giggles like a mad Cheshire that is about to spill the milk, “-he makes it, and not in the way you were thinking either!” the storyteller continues to snicker to himself like he had just told the best joke in the world that only he found funny.

 

Kinesias and Iokaste exchange worried glances. “And you wake us up for that?” said Iokaste, a thread of exasperation ran high in his voice. “You! You could have waited until the next evening when we were expecting it! Please tell us there’s another reason why you pulled us from our slumber.” 

 

Kinesias nodded gravely.

 

“There is!” brightly chirped the storyteller, his eyes gleamed like polished stone. “To tell you this – oh and listen carefully, can’t repeat it,” he took a breath and with the same beatific smile pasted on, a completely different voice, masculine with a jocular mirth spoke. 

 

“Ah- ah- ah. I this thing on? Oh, you’re sure then are you? Well I’m never certain with these things. Yes, yes, okay I get it,” the lively voice tripped from the storyteller’s lips. The storyteller cleared his throat with a sound of crinkling parchment. 

 

Death walks among us,

talks with us,

breathes with us, 

loves with us, 

never to be one with us

 

the voice recited in a cheerful tone. “hm, yep, that’s done. Okay, now how do I turn this off Axe-” quite suddenly the other voice stopped and the storyteller stumbled forward like a line had been strung to his throat, suddenly cut.

 

He massaged his throat and tested his voice a few times before fixing the two men with a searching gaze. “For what it’s worth, you two are my picks,” he said as he made the strange gesture over his heart. “Now, you toddle your cute little asses back to bed.”

 

And they did just that.

 

The next evening after a harrowing escape from the streets of Gallipoli – some religious zealots wanted Pheres as their permanent spiritual leader and conduit to the gods, but Admetos wasn’t having any of that – they collapsed outside the city while Kinesias worked at starting a fire in the dark, but he was so tired he kept fumbling the flint. When it finally was lit, Kin locked eyes with Iokaste across the licking flames. Neither of them had relayed the events of last night to the group. 

 

Kin lit up in a blush when Iokaste threw a wink and a shy smile at him. Nicomachus, the shortest of their group, noticed the interaction and soon the rest of the boys were ribbing the two young men, with Admetos leading the cheer. Iokaste furiously denied anything, which flattened Kinesias’s hope, so he joined Iokaste in pushing back against the group’s encouragement. 

 

Their laughter masked the storyteller’s approach until he plopped himself down between Kinesias and Admetos. “While it certainly makes my old heart happy to see you young boys so exuberant about pushing your friends into love, sometimes you need to let things happen naturally. If you try to force something so fragile as a new romance you can crush it before it even begins,” he said as leaned an arm on Kinesias’s shoulder. 

 

“But I didn’t join you tonight to instruct you in the ways of love, my young bucks, after all, you have the temples of Phichit to help you with that,” he said with a wink and a cheeky smile. “But since I’ve been away from my babies, I may have lost my flair for storytelling.”

 

When Iokaste jumped in and assured the storyteller that would never happen, he beamed a bright smile and preened like he knew they would fluff his ego.

 

“Okay my boys, let’s get Yuuri out of this predicament!”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri stared at the green arrowhead. It was so close it made him go cross-eyed. There was no way Otabek would miss at this range. His dog, Almaty, silently flowed in opposite of Otabek, his midnight blue coloration nearly blending in with the darkness were it not for the stars in his coat. Stars, Yuuri didn’t even hear him coming. Throat clenched, his jaw locked as he tried to swallow, it felt like swallowing the desert; harsh and unforgiving with secrets buried deep. Acid burned in his gut as his mind spun out various ways this would end. 

 

One: Otabek takes the shot, Yuuri ends up on the shores of the Acheron a mindless blue shade, Viktor slides his plush ass into Yuuri’s throne, banishing his shade to Tartarus to wait out eternity with his monstrous parents. Two: Otabek takes the shot, shade Yuuri, Mila is promoted to God of Death, reveres Yuuri’s shade enough to give him a nice side tunnel to haunt. Three: shot, shade, Death God Viktor keeps Yuuri’s shade around for entertainment and something to display all his plants on when he gets bored – because knowing Viktor, he would be able to grow all the plants underground he wants. 

 

“It is an honor to formally meet you, Lord Yuuri,” Otabek’s mellifluous voice tore Yuuri’s gaze from the shockingly green arrow. He locked sight with the young hunter and tried to communicate by expression alone that which his throat would not let him say: _please don’t_. “It’s equally an honor to mark you. Hold still, this should only sting a little,” he said as he drew the string tighter.

 

Distantly, he heard Viktor shout and start running back. _He did try to draw the hunters away_ , Yuuri thought. So Viktor _may_ find his research and feed him some of the black pomegranates and just _maybe_ his theory is right. If so, he could retain his thoughts and emotions after death, would be able to look back at his life and say he contributed positively for humanity – though the little lost shade-child was the only success, sooo Yuuri wasn’t guaranteed anything. Yuuri wondered if Viktor would do that for him. But…then he’d be stuck with Viktor, in the Underworld, forever a prisoner. To Yuuri’s surprise, he found he didn’t outright hate that option. Rather, if he had to choose, he would willingly bind himself to Viktor.

 

As the thought entered his mind, he felt a tingling flush of power swell through his fingertips and flooded out of him. A curious crisp, rushing sound, sharp to the ears, like if grass could talk and they called a chorus of a billion-bladed army, filled the air.

 

Yuuri could see Otabek flinch at the sound and check the ground, eyes wide. He whistled for Almaty as he leapt high up in a tree. Almaty instantly flowed by his side. 

 

With Yuuri as the epicenter, death radiated in a grey wave, desiccating all living things that dared stand before it. Beetles dropped twitching onto the ground, a stray rodent froze in its den, the low plants didn’t stand a chance as even the hearty grasses breathed their last. His expression part fascination, part shock that he seemed to be generating this power-

_Iokaste hummed, his finger tapping his mouth. “How can Yuuri not know he was the one creating this phenomenon? Doesn’t he have control over where and when he uses his powers?”_

_“Can’t slip anything past you, can I?” the storyteller chuckled. “You’re right, he can control_ HIS _powers.”_

_“Not his powers, then,” mumbled Kinesias while he scratched at his beard._

_Iokaste’s face lit up at Kinesias’s contribution to the conversation. “Oh! Right, so…..Who’s powers are they?”_

_The storyteller laid a finger aside his nose, with a small smile gracing his features, said. “Who’s indeed.”_

 

-Yuuri watched as the grey shriveling death extended an amoeba-like arm up the trunk of Otabek’s refuge, seeking out the aggressor. When Otabek would leap to higher branches still, the arm would course correct, ever reaching. 

 

Finally, Otabek nocked another arrow and sighted Yuuri. The grey death arm rushed up to stop the starry-eyed hunter, extract the vitality from his very bones. It could nearly grab Otabek’s starry belt as the tail hung low on the branch. Yuuri could feel the glee in the power as it yearned for life to join it in eternal slumber. 

 

A green shot let fly and Yuuri closed his eyes to his inevitable death until something crashed hard into his side, knocking him flat as a stinging pain ripped across his temple. Dazed and groaning, he opened his eyes to a familiar sight of Viktor collapsed on top of him, though this time he had two green shafts embedded deeply in his back. For a moment, Yuuri’s heart seemed to stop. _No, why did you do this?_ He wanted to shake the God of Spring and demand to know why he was throwing himself in the path of destruction; saving Yuuri’s life, but he didn’t. 

 

When Viktor finally drew a coughing gasp and reached back to pluck one of the arrows out with a wince, the color seemed to return to the world. Right, he huffed, not every god was as fragile and weighted down with a mortal body as he was. To Viktor and the rest of their group, this was a fun lark in the woods with silly play arrows; something to pass the boredom of eons. That was why he riled Yuuri up; not because of any misplaced desire for Yuuri. Viktor didn’t even know he was saving him! He probably wanted to return to Olympus to regale the pantheon with stories of his heroism by leaping like a damnable fucking gazelle, taking joke shots intended for Yuuri to show the God of Death’s incompetence even as a target.

_Admetos pursed his lips, doubt tugging the edges. “I don’t get it, why does Yuuri continually refuse to see the feelings Viktor has for him?”_

_The storyteller chuffed a laugh. “Ah! An excellent question by our young romantic,” he said. “But stick a pin in that idea. We’re coming back to that later, okay?”_

 

He’d made a fool of Yuuri, again, and the humiliation burned deep on his face. He shoved Viktor off as Otabek lightly leapt to the forest floor. Viktor groaned and pulled the other arrow out, leaving a bright green stain on his robes. 

 

Otabek crunched over the dead land and knelt beside Yuuri; stars shone in his eyes in the low light. Curiosity bright on his face, he touched Yuuri’s temple and his fingers came away with blood mixed with green stain. Yuuri flinched at the touch, and not only for the bright pain that flashed. The starry hunter rubbed his fingers together, smelled them. Worry creased his brow and Otabek dipped his head in deference.

 

“Forgive my rude behavior, Lord Yuuri,” he said, voice clear, “I was too hasty; life is precious, especially one such as yours. I didn’t listen to my stars’ warnings,” was the only explanation he gave before he held his hand out for Yuuri to take.

 

It took Yuuri a moment to realize Otabek was talking about his mortality. The tingling, cold sensation that ran down his spine made him shudder as the weight of Otabek’s revelation pressed on him. He didn’t know how Otabek figured out his current condition. And if Otabek figured it out, could others also piece together the signs? Sueng-Gil knew something was up, though Yuuri hoped he threw him off the scent. Yurio definitely was too perceptive for his own good. And what about Viktor? In his obsession with Yuuri he may be able to notice something- 

_“Um, excuse me,” the diminutive-framed Nicomachus held up a trembling hand, “B-but if the gods already know Yuuri is mortal from his, um- his tribunal, why is he hiding it now?”_

_“So glad you finally joined the conversation my boy!” cheered the storyteller, which earned a squeak from the young man. “You’re right, Yuuri’s original sentence was the hot topic of conversation in Olympus, but when he turned up back in his realm, they merely assumed he regained his full godly status and those who did know were sworn to secrecy,” he spread his arms like he was presenting previously discovered facts. “The wise and great Phichit is handy when it comes to ferreting out gossip and secrets, but he’d never throw Yuuri to the wolves like that. Those kind of secrets have lead to the downfall of many immortal beings. What, you thought Medusa was always nasty pieces of work?” he tsk’ed the boys. “Heh, she used to be a beautiful Daimon, but she didn’t keep her secrets well enough. Pissed off the wrong Olympian back in the day.”_

_“I see,” said Iokaste, “To the gods, showing weakness is then an invitation to ruin? That’s why he’s always concerned about his status with the other gods?”_

_“Well, when you look at the last time gods showed weakness, you’d understand,” said the storyteller, his face shadowed and his eyes gleamed bright. “The Titans thought themselves invulnerable, but Celestino proved himself more powerful than even his own father. There’s a reason why he sits at the top of the pantheon,” scratching his chin, the storyteller hummed as he thought to himself before continuing. “Moral of the story, always watch your back,” he said with a cheerful grin on his face, “you don’t know who may be poised to stab it!”_

 

-And of course Viktor wouldn’t hesitate to use this against Yuuri. Shit shit shit! Yuuri chewed his bottom lip as Viktor clambered off him with a guilty expression.

 

He could already hear the whispers behind his back and barely hidden grins as the rest of the pantheon judged him for his inability to regain his immortality. A breeze filtering through the leaves might as well be backdoor discussions regarding his suitability for his realm, the titter of birds the mocking laughter of his golden siblings. 

 

The sounds came from all quarters, hounding him. Ignoring the proffered hand and Viktor’s shout, he took off. He ran as if death were snapping at his heels, which, for all intents and purposes, it was. He ran because running was what he was good at. He knew he should care about how he was being perceived by the younger gods, that any weakness would paint a target on his back; but at this exact moment, he couldn’t give two fucks about how they felt or how they saw him. He just needed to be back home, shut behind his iron doors, safe, isolated.

 

It wasn’t until his gates clanged behind him when he realized he couldn’t remember exactly how he got home. Just that he was. And though he was safely in his realm, he couldn’t calm his racing heart and for the life of him he couldn’t decide whether it was due to the rush to escape, or some other reason.

 

* * *

 

 

After losing face to Viktor once more, Yuuri wandered deep in his realm in a listless state, not really noting where he was going. Inevitably, he ended up in Tartarus, staring up at a pair of monoliths, one jet black and hard as diamond, the other milky white and crumbling along the edges, both nearly as tall as a mountain. As always, he took a seated position before the white monolith, far enough away that he could see it in its entirety. Just below the surface, he could see a ghostly figure, trapped and frozen as if in restful slumber were it not for the grimace of pain that marred their features. He sat for hours, eyes clenched, arms wrapped tightly around himself, fingers dug deeply into his arms, until he finally broke and stood in a rush. He didn’t even realize the tears streaming down his face as he regarded the white monolith.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, breath leaving him in a stilted rush, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I’m not as great as my siblings.” He hiccupped as a new wave of guilt washed over him, catching his words. “I-I’m sorry I continually d-disappoint you, and I fail miserably. I’m sorry I showed weakness when _you_ taught me how to be strong.” He threaded his fingers into his messy hair and clenched into a fist, knuckles white. “I’m sorry you’re trapped here, with only me as your company,” he took a deep breath released it in one sigh. “I’m sorry we won. I….I almost wish we hadn’t won.”

 

He scrubbed the wetness from his eyes and, with heavy shuffling steps, turned to head back to his room. He paused and mumbled over his shoulder, “I wish I could make you proud, Mother.” 

 

He didn’t notice the slight shift in the figure’s head and expression, just a small movement to the right and a pinch of eyebrows. More chunks fell from the crumbling edges.

_“Oh! It’s Rhe-,” breathed Iokaste, recognition lively in his face._

_“Shh!” The storyteller cut him off with an authoritative shush. “Trifle not with the mother of the gods. Her heart has long turned stone along with the rest of her, yet would cut us down with a glance if given the chance. Even the Olympians know better than to use her name. Let sleeping gods lie.”_

 

* * *

 

 

For a month Mila tip-toed around Yuuri while he either spent way too long in his bed, or wandered his realm clad in a bundle of blankets. After his fourth circuit across the Acheron on her boat, just staring at the water and sighing moodily, Mila broke. “Godsdammit! Snap outta this Yuuri. You can’t let some self-centered, flower-brained, _slightly_ good-looking god – who is honestly not good enough for someone your caliber – drive you into submission!” 

 

Yuuri gulped guiltily. He thought he had successfully downplayed his freak-out session after the hunt, but apparently not. With Phichit otherwise….occupied….with Viktor, Yuuri had no outlet to talk things over, so he stayed up all hours to stew over the events of the hunt. 

 

“Besides! It’s been almost a year since you….uh, you know, in your…condition-” she hesitated and scratched her temple to cover her nervousness.

 

“-Since I was so thoroughly disgraced, cast out of the pantheon, and took up a mantle of power I can’t hope to control,” he forced a dry coughing laugh from his lungs. “A year….huh. Time is slipping away,” he said, a far-off look glowed in his eyes. 

 

Time indeed was slipping away and a year passing might not mean much to a god, but to a mortal, it meant another step closer to their final breath. Any other circumstances, Yuuri might have sat still and waited out his fate alone in this damp realm. However, Mila wasn’t about to let circumstance dictate Yuuri’s fate.

 

She shoved a finger in Yuuri’s face. “If you give up without a fight, he wins. Plain as that. Do you want Viktor to win that badly?” she banged her wet pole on the deck of the boat for every word.

 

Mila’s words lit a fire inside him as he thought of Viktor claiming the upper hand yet again. _Stars_ , Yuuri didn’t fight in the war for 10 arduous years, strike down the destructive Titans and imprison _and_ punish them, just to roll over and die! No fucking way was that happening. 

 

Clenching a fist, Yuuri turned to his young Psychopomp, determination singing through his veins. “So what do you suggest, Mila. I can’t go toe to toe with him in this form; it’d kill me.”

 

Mila’s eyes lit up and her in her excitement the boat rocked as she pulled out a wicked slide step. “AHA! DANCE BATTLE! Challenge him to a dance-off! You nailed your performance at the banquet, I know you could definitely beat Viktor!” Yuuri broke into an easy belly laugh as Mila capered on the boat, imitating Yuuri in numerous provocative dance moves. 

 

Which is how Yuuri ended up half naked in his room, Mila shoving robe after robe onto his bed with instructions to ‘strip and dress or else.’ All things considered, Mila’s selection was not nearly as scandalous as he initially dreaded. He regarded himself in his mirror, a set of robes draped fetchingly on him, although much shorter than his normal length and a neckline that plunged to mid-sternum. Highlighting his nearly luminescent skin, she chose robes of a soft grey that shifted through to deep wine red, intricate panels of see-through floral lace ran up the sides. A dusting of sparkling, flirtatious emotions, like twinkling stars, lit his shoulders. Instead of his simple, sensible leather boots, she insisted on strappy sandals that cupped his calves like they were groping him. 

 

Were it not for Maigo – as Yuuri had named the child-shade who cried every time Yuuri left his sight – the little shade bouncing on Yuuri’s bed who giggled and clapped with each new wardrobe addition, Yuuri surely would have given up halfway through the arduous styling session. But, his spirits lifted as he saw the effort they were putting into making him feel better about himself. And, once she was done, Yuuri could appreciate that he could cut a fine figure if he wanted. Sure the robes were a little short, and the lace panels left little to the imagination, but even as the blush dusted high on his cheeks, he couldn’t help the excited smile that graced his face.

 

Mila fussed over the last details as she set a filigree silver diadem with a scattering of pearls and moonstones atop his slicked back hair. “Now remember, Chris’s festivals can get a little…..a bit….okay a lot crazy. If you _really_ don’t want to dance or sleep with someone, Chris has Panacea draughts all over the place to clear any lingering effects,” she hedged. “But we all need to go a little mad once in a while, so this might be a good chance to loosen up! But be sure to kick Viktor’s perfect ass back to Olympus on that dance floor!

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll remember,” he said with a giggling smirk to show he appreciated the advice

 

* * *

 

 

And so Yuuri ended up paraded on Mila’s arm into the gaping entrance to Chris’s Cave of Wonders where you can find many other caves to dive into. Unlike Yuuri’s dark and foreboding entrance to his realm – well it _was_ foreboding until a spontaneous _forest_ popped up – this was a spectacle of epic proportions. Plush wine carpeting wound to the entrance; golden fountains gushed equally golden sparkling sweet-smelling liquor; enormous trees dripped with golden grapes; and, to top it off, Maenads and Satyrs lined the walkway, each held a gold-clad giant fennel thyrsus – a staff topped with a gemstone encrusted pinecone. Yuuri balked at the retinue’s….choice of dress, he thought they should be wearing more than tiny fawnskin capes, but Chris apparently had other ideas, instructing them to greet each guest very _very_ attentively. 

 

The Maenads hewed Yuuri from Mila within moments, he quickly became a nervous mass, the madness of the event already sang loudly in their blood. While the Maenads “greeted” Yuuri, he noted that more than one Satyr was already standing at full attention, eager to join the action. Half a dozen hickeys covered his neck and reddening chest by the time Yuuri reached the entrance to the cave. His skin numbed where their kisses marked him.

 

He’d heard tales from Phichit regarding the scale of Chris’s annual ‘Phallic Procession,’ as Phichit called it, but if Yuuri thought the walk up to the space was eventful, it did nothing to prepare him for the burst of sensation as he stepped into the cave. It was like every sense was dialed to 11, why Yuuri used that number, he didn’t know. But 11 seemed a good number to explain how the colors seemed to leap directly into his eyes, how the very [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkIvRbtw1EU) prowled across the dancefloor and slipped under his skin to command his attention. Every inch of him on enflamed as his eyes dilated in that initial rush of euphoria. 

 

The cavern was just as plush and tantalizing as the entrance; velvety golds and rich purples carried in grape motifs throughout the drapery and scrolled in filigree all along the large central circular bar. All around were glittering crystal tables and fainting couches clad in sumptuously soft golden lambskin – begging for gods to rub their hands and faces and other, more sensitive, parts of their bodies all over them. God and demi-gods of all shapes and sizes filled the cavern to the brim, so much was the press of flesh that Yuuri felt the temperature rising with each step he took. Yuuri heard Celestino’s booming laugh – probably trying to get into the pants of yet another nymph – so he steered well clear. Many pulsating colored lights swept over the writhing, crowded dancefloor, which was far enough away that Yuuri could avoid his thunderous sibling. 

 

And _stars_ were there so many gods in all stages of undress around him. They danced like moonstruck cultists in the throes of a godly possession, they drank everything put in front of them, they feasted gluttonously, they giggled and held quiet tittering conversations. The sheer _indulgence_ was nearly too much for an isolationist like Yuuri. It was a hand lovingly groping his ass that grounded him in the here and now. Turning, Chris leaned in to give Yuuri a lingering kiss on each blushing cheek. 

 

“So our elusive little Yuuri finally has graced my maddened halls. I had given up hope to ever see your-” Chris pointedly squeezed Yuuri’s backside, “-juicy assets so near my wine press.” 

 

Hazel eyes captured Yuuri as Chris crowded Yuuri in for a moment, leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “I don’t suppose you happen to know what is between your little Love God and Viktor. See, I’ve so enjoyed Viktor’s generous….assistance….sowing seeds of mine all over the place – grapes of course,” he said with a saucy wink. “Phichit’s a good friend, but if he interferes with Viktor….well, it’s been a while since my retinue have torn apart a sacrifice during the height of their sexual frenzies.”

 

The thought of Phichit coming to harm injected a shot of fear into him. With all the Maenads and Satyrs at Chris’s command, he was certain Chris could follow up on his barely veiled threat with ease. 

 

He didn’t realize Chris was so protective of Viktor and he wondered if the God of Madness would stand in Yuuri’s way when he humiliated the God of Perfection. 

 

“I never thought you were one for violence, Chris. You were a conscientious objector to the war after all,” said Yuuri wryly. “Viktor’s a grown god, Chris. He can make his own decisions just fine,” Yuuri mumbled the last part, “like growing a fucking forest on my lands.” He hoped Chris hadn’t heard that. 

 

“Of course he is, Yuuri,” insanity and something else Yuuri couldn’t identify flashed across Chris’s face. “However, since my dear friend burst on the scene, my varietals have been nonpareil.” Then, his face grew uncharacteristically somber. “My wine is all I have. Phichit could have chosen any other god, why not m-” he murmured quietly and the Lord of Madness and Revelry flushed a moment before he seemed to remember that Yuuri was right beside him. “W-what I mean is, I can’t let Viktor walk willingly into ruin,” he said quietly. Then a crazed aura washed over Chris as a maddened smile unspooled itself. “Come, you absolutely MUST try my newest drink!”

 

“More wine?” Yuuri mumbled under his breath.

 

Chris’s smile widened as he guided Yuuri to the ostentatious bar. “Not wine exactly, little Death God. CHAMPAGNE FOR ALL!” he bellowed and all the guests cheered as delicate crystalline flutes appeared in their hands. At the appearance of something unexpected in his hand, Yuuri fumbled the flute and nearly dropped it, but saved it at the last second; managing to not even spill a single drop.

 

The golden liquor sent tiny bubbles shooting up to fizz at the top. Yuuri held it to his ears that tickled when they popped. Sniffing it, he took a test taste. The effervescent liquid played with his tongue, slid down his throat like it was chasing a feeling down deep inside of him. It went down surprisingly easy and in no time flat, he had a line of dead soldiers along the bar. He giggled as he lay his head on the bar to look down the crystal glasses. If he moved his head just so, all the flutes collapsed into one, making it look like he’d only drank the one glass, which he found hilarious.

 

Head swimming, the bubbles injecting euphoria direct to his bloodstream, Yuuri let the thumping pull of the music Calliope was creating draw him to the throng of dancers. He thought he spied a figment of his imagination as he saw the celestial hunter, Otabek up on the podium with Calliope, hunkered down behind a complicated set of machinery that seemed to control the music with two turntables and a microphone.

_“Turnta-” Iokaste jumped in._

_Kinesias face-palmed at his overly-inquisitive companion as the storyteller let out an annoyed sigh. “Look kid, there are times when the gods have sublimely fantastic devices that you little humans have not come across,” said the storyteller as he made an impatient shooing gesture. “If you keep interrupting my storytelling groove, I may have to get….forceful. When I say it’s for music, just go with it. Don’t question every little new vocabulary word I sling at you and we all will get along MUCH better.”_

_“But it sounds so wonderful! A box that plays music whenever they wish it? If only we could see all these fascinating things the gods have created!” gushed Iokaste._

_Pinching the bridge of his nose, the storyteller shook his head before he picked up a nearby stick to quickly sketch a simplistic version of a box with two circles on it and a rounded stick with a hatched bulbous top._

_“THERE. WHERE IT’S AT, you got two turntables and a microphone! Just clap your hands,” he said._

_And they did just that._

 

-Yuuri let a belly laugh roll out of him when he saw Yurio, the industrially-thorny hunter gazing up at Otabek as if he had hung the moon that Yurio so-loved to worship. Maybe he hadn’t imagined Phichit’s “lurve shaft” after-all. Otabek occasionally would throw the blonde hunter a smile, which Yurio seemed to eat up.

 

The muse spotted Yuuri and threw him a kiss as she sampled some god’s emotions for a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLUDxVezNes) that pumped up the crowd, excited for the delicious press of skin against skin, desire rising. Giddiness made his movements loose and fluid as he looped easily into a knot of Maenads, bouncing on the balls of his feet. They cheered as the Lord Unseen threw himself into the dance, twisting and throwing sensuous shapes effortlessly. He popped up on his arms in a modified handstand to the delight of the Maenads. Their vulpine faces melded together as Yuuri whirled around, tantalizing brushes of their hands burned his skin, the lights strobed in bursts of color, leaving afterimages when he closed his eyes. He wanted to lose himself, he _needed_ to. He was going to finally beat Viktor at something he thought as a fever glazed his eyes.

 

Whooping cheers drew Yuuri’s attention. Cinnamon laced the air, tangled with balsam as Emil pulled off his robes, muscles contracted and played under his skin with the grace and strength of Yurio’s Pyotya. All eyes were drawn to his glorious body, which is exactly why Emil disrobed in the middle of the dancefloor. His pheromones piqued even Yuuri’s attention, as well as many other dancers, Yuuri saw. The God of Sex looked over his shoulder, and gave someone a searing come hither look and a beaconing gesture. Yuuri caught emotions Emil sent out obliquely and it took nearly everything he had to resist being drawn into his embrace. 

 

Then, Michele crashed back into the God of Attraction’s space to share a long, lazy kiss. The way they pressed up against each other, like they wanted to melt into one being, made Yuuri just the tiniest bit envious. He hoped Seung-Gil was okay with this arrangement, but knowing the serious smith, he highly doubted it. Before long, the two of them disappeared from the dancefloor for one of the back lounges, hidden from the world.

 

Mila dashed to Yuuri’s side, smile open and wide. “Are you having fun yet, Yuuri?” she shouted above the din of the music. 

 

Yuuri laughed and returned her smile. “Yeah, I am!” he said, almost surprised at the answer. 

 

Mila responded with a jumping cheer. “Way to get into the spirit, Yuuri! Throw your worries away and build yourself a new life.”

 

As the sweat poured off him, it was like the animosity that filled him was being drained by the exuberance of the dancers, the sweetness of the champagne, the madness filling the air. He had let himself forget Viktor, all the disgrace he had suffered at the hands of the God of Perfection, though he was here on a specific mission to redeem himself. However, it felt _so nice_ to let go of his envy and frustrations in the grind of dancing. 

 

Yuuri recognized the violet-eyed Sara as she wove through the press of gods toward him and Mila. “Lord Yuuri! Hi!” she shouted brightly before her eyes were drawn to his fiery-haired Psychopomp. “I need to dance with her, right now,” she said, waving at Yuuri as Mila was pulled blushing onto the dancefloor. They immediately were glued to one another, needing to be closer to one another.

 

Yuuri stared after the two of them, his heart clenching suddenly as he followed their seduction into the heat of the dance. Someone bumped into Yuuri, throwing him off balance and it was then that Yuuri felt a piercing gaze. 

 

Yuuri whirled around and if he thought he would need to search for the god watching him, he needn’t have worried. Lantern-like, Viktor’s startling blue eyes pinned Yuuri from across the dancefloor, calling him over with just a look. Those eyes were like a shining star, guiding him, and Yuuri felt drawn to them. The dance seemed to slow around him, their movements dream-like and sleepy even in their frenzy, as his focus was drawn by those eyes.

 

And just like that, he felt Viktor’s presence pressing up against him, crowding him across the throb of the dancers. If he’d had a literal wall up against his back, he would have felt the same. Instead of feeling cornered, he felt empowered. It was _him_ that Viktor was staring at, was paying attention to. A confident grin slid onto his face as he started their dance battle of wills. Though the revelers were oblivious to the war happening right in their midst. 

 

He took a long, sliding step, his body flowed to the right, on his side of the dancefloor, Viktor followed to his left. He shuffled gracefully, moving ever so closer to Viktor’s side of the floor, and Viktor mirrored his moves. He rolled his hips and made mesmerizing shapes with his hands, beaconing. Viktor did the same. Emboldened by the champagne, every move Yuuri pulled out – from shaking it like a polaroid picture to a thriller of a dance like the undead – Viktor would copy him, perfectly of course. 

 

And so it went, Yuuri trying different dance moves and Viktor imitating them to an uncanny degree. It frankly was starting to piss Yuuri off that he couldn’t seem to find any dance move that Viktor couldn’t pull off.

 

Breaking Yuuri from his rapidly souring mood, bass notes and a deep drum beat signaling a new [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQu8FOjJXdI) thumped through the air. Threaded over the beat, an organ crooned as moody bells descended in a minor key as the beat pulled at Yuuri’s hips. The music crawled under Yuuri’s skin and made him flush hot from the base of his spine to his burning face.

 

Yuuri didn’t know who Calliope was sampling for this new song, but the lyrics pulled at his heart as they proclaimed a futile love and a desperate need for the subject of the song to notice them. He felt sorry for the god she was sampling, to continually put themselves out there to only be rebuffed by some callous god….idiot, can’t they see the amount of hurt they’re inflicting? 

 

He felt seduction rise within him and the feeling bolstered his confidence. Now was his chance. Time to truly beat Viktor at his own game and beat him so thoroughly that he couldn’t help but be humiliated in front of nearly half the pantheon. He glided through the throng of dancers like liquid steel. The alcohol thrummed through his system and gave the lights a haze around them, and a glowing halo around Viktor too, Yuuri noted absently, which highlighted his gauzy robes in an entirely too fascinating way. His head pounded with the beat of the music. He wanted to savor this defeat and he couldn’t do that impaired like he was now. 

 

He snagged what he hoped was a shot of Panacea, at least that’s what he thought the tiny red shot glasses with white crosses were. As he knocked it back, he absently thought the design would be perfect for a flag of sorts, perhaps for a neutral country with a secretive banking system and great cheese. He filed it away for later as the effects of the champagne slowly started to clear. From the maddened haziness grew a burning desire to make the silver-haired god writhe beneath him and Yuuri wondered if it was an aftereffect of the drink. He lowered his head as he fixed Viktor with a smirk and, looking up, sharp determination in his eyes.

 

Moving with a rolling grace, he stalked towards Viktor’s side of the dancefloor, his hips were weapons, his hands were delicate, poised to beacon closer or brush-off unwanted attention, always in control. His gaze poured over Viktor like he was a fascinating new novel. Long grey-black gauzy robes gathered at his waist to accentuate his shapely figure. His shoulders were stark against the barely-there fabric – _stars_ his collarbones were sharp enough to cut all thought off – rose petals in various shades of blushing red affixed for modesty at his naval and….lower, Yuuri noted, or rather Yuuri’s…..lower regions noticed. 

 

He felt a tightness in the air that seemed to enclose just the two of them in their own world, the heartbeat of the music muffled. 

 

He could make out a small knot of gods clustered near the God of Spring, laughing at some spectacle. The back of Phichit’s dark head peeked just behind Viktor’s shoulder, giving Yuuri a start. Of course Phichit would be here at the most crazily-debauched party with Viktor. Normally Phichit would have begged Yuuri to go with him, only to be disappointed when Yuuri begged off going. Yuuri faltered in his step, then an idea formed and he licked his lips as he analyzed the best way to implement his plan.

 

He broke eye-contact with Viktor and continued to weave through the crowd toward their group, letting the beat of the music dictate his hips. Once he broke into a dancing couple to spin and dip Priapos, God of Apiaries, with his ridiculously, absurdly enormous dick that hung to his knees standing at half-mast. 

_All the boys’ hands shot up at the mention of an oversized phallus. The storyteller snorted and rolled his eyes._

_“Lemme guess, you want to know who he is and where can you pray to him for a bigger dick,” said the storyteller with a patronizing tone._

_When they all nodded, he chuckled and shook his head. “Well, you’re outta luck my fine young men, his specialty happens to be vegetable gardens, bees and vineyards. Chris keeps him very,_ very _well-endowed because he helps pollinate his grapes. So unless you plan to plant a garden of eggplants, you won’t grow the biggest dick praying to his halls. Besides, everyone knows, size matters not. Judge me by my size, do you? As well you should not! It’s how you wield it that counts. Tongue matters too, definitely should use your tongues,” the storyteller wagged a finger at them. “ANYWAY! THIS IS SO NOT PRESSING TO THE STORY! So sit down and calm your excited little peckers down.”_

 

-Though when Yuuri was done, he was no longer just half-hard and Yuuri spun Priapos back into his partner’s arms with a wink back at the aroused god. When he pulled from the main dancefloor, he chanced a glance through his lashes at Viktor and was surprised at the blush spreading all along Viktor’s neck and collarbone. Part of him wondered how far down the blush would spread. 

 

With a deliberate motion, he brushed shoulders with Viktor, stalking past the God of Perfection. Their group was cackling at Chris’s problematic human as he stared with a singular focus, captivated at a pool of water at his feet. A black-haired Maenad with a refined vulpine face yelled at the group for playing with the poor human. 

 

“What’s the harm, Isabella? It’s just a bit of fun we’re having here,” laughed Phichit. “Are you mad I made him fall for his own reflection and not you?”

_“Wow, I thought Phichit was nicer. Making someone fall for their own reflection is not what I expected from the God of Love,” mused Admetos as he leaned into Pheres for emotional support._

_The air around them tightened and the boys winced, rubbing at their ears. The overpowering floral scent returned and the storyteller’s eyes turned to flint. “Well the gods; that pompously annoying Prometheus, to be specific; created humans. The gods watch over them. Nowhere was it recorded_ HOW _they watch over them. This is why humans pray at the temples and pay tithe to improve their fortunes, to stay in the gods’ good graces. Now, JJ, sure he was considered an egotistical nuisance, but he gravely insulted Chris by bedding one of his Maenads, outside the bounds of the Bacchanals, without Chris’s permission. Not only did he trample on Chris’s hospitality, but he stole his Maenad’s heart. Stealing from a god carries grave consequences, you understand me?” he finished and as the young men nodded their comprehension, the air cleared immediately._

_“But couldn’t the God of Love understand JJ’s position as a man who had fallen for an immortal deity?” rumbled Kinesias._

_The stranger pouted briefly. “Haven’t I been telling you boys? If the choice were between an irksome human and some debauched god for whom the God of Love may or may not have a gigantic crush…” the storyteller wound down, stared into the fire and cleared his throat a moment. “Anyways, grave consequences,” he nodded with a finality._

 

Not that he didn’t understand her plight-

_“No wait, go back to that giant crush thing. You’re saying that Phichit secretly likes Chris? Wha- When- HOW?!” practically screamed Iokaste._

_The storyteller blushed furiously and he tapped the point of his forefingers together nervously. “Well my strapping young specimen, when a boy and a boy meet one another-” he began, but Iokaste cut him off._

_“No! I mean, there’s been no mention of this at all! It’s hard to take if there hasn’t been any buildup to it,” he said impatiently._

_“Look, kid, just because you’re only seeing things from Yuuri’s side of the story doesn’t mean that other things aren’t moving and shaking in Olympus when he isn’t there. You did learn object permanence, didn’t you? See, things still exist even you aren’t around. So…..” he led them on._

_Kinesias sighed heavily and put a hand on Iokaste’s shoulder. “So Phichit fell for Chris at some point. We don’t know when. But we can accept,” he said with a nod and, with a tiny shiver, Iokaste nodded along._

 

-it _did_ seem like a harmless prank – but Yuuri had an agenda to keep. The Maenad was about to launch into the Lord of Love as Yuuri snaked an arm around Phichit’s neck. 

 

“Oh I’ll make sure to punish his bad behavior later, Isabella, was it?” said Yuuri, “But for now I need him.” There was nothing warm in the smile he tossed carelessly at the Maenad. Yuuri noticed his friend momentarily stiffen, then soften into Yuuri’s embrace as Yuuri turned the two of them back to the dancefloor. 

 

He deliberately stared at Viktor with a challenging smile as he took back his friend. Just like Viktor incited Yuuri to foolhardiness, he wanted to see Viktor helpless to his actions. He was rewarded when Viktor swallowed visibly.

 

Leading his friend, he whipped Phichit around and held him tight against his own body. The two of them let the insistent pulse of the music dictate their motions, tangling themselves together on the dancefloor. Yuuri glanced over his friend’s shoulder to check where Viktor’s attention was, though he _knew_ he was watching their every move; and he loved the feeling of Viktor’s eyes on them. The Lord of Love’s fluttery crimson gauzy robes, edged in gold, flowed around Yuuri’s legs, caressed them, sending delicious sensations straight to Yuuri’s groin. Yuuri reveled in the power he felt in staking his claim here and now on the dancefloor. As he captured Phichit’s gaze, a slow seductive smile grew on the Lord of Love.

_Admetos pouted. “Wasn’t Phichit mad at Yuuri for using him though?”_

_Throwing back his head, the stranger laughed. “Not at all my darlings. Power plays amongst the gods are a common occurrence. It’s how the hierarchy was established in the first place. It’s a dog eat dog, or should I say god eat god, world out there, because stars know Phichit would simply devour Yuuri if he was allowed. I dare say, he expected Yuuri to act this way.”_

 

Phichit leaned in, breath hot against Yuuri’s skin. He pressed light kisses all along the line of Yuuri’s neck. “If you wanted a dance, you just needed to ask, my lovely Yuuri,” he purred. The next moment his expression softened, almost sad and Phichit cupped his hand on Yuuri’s cheek. “But, jealousy doesn’t suit you, my little love.” Phichit held an ear up and cupped his hand around it. “Listen, do you hear that?” When Yuuri shook his head, Phichit sighed and smiled sadly. “One day you’ll finally be able to hear the siren song of love, but I fear that day is not today,” he said as he languidly drew Yuuri in for a deep, heated kiss. 

_“Okay, stop!” said Admetos, holding his hand up. “If what you said before is true and Phichit has feelings for Chris, then why is he still making out with Yuuri?”_

_“I thought we already went over this boys,” the storyteller sucked his teeth. “Not kissing Yuuri is like telling a man wandering the desert not to drink at an unfairly GORGEOUS oasis. It’s cards against humanity.”_

_“Don’t you mean a crime against humanity?” added Nicomachus._

_The storyteller sucked his teeth. “Crime, Cards, tomato, tomahto.”_

_“But what’s a toma-” started Nicomachus._

_Aggravated, the storyteller waved a hand at them._

 

Every fiber in his being screamed that this wasn’t right as Phichit continued to deepen their kiss, sliding a tongue against Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri’s heart was racing, but not due to any desire, but for the absurdity of the situation he’d landed himself. He was way over his head when it came to power games and playing at superiority. The more he thought about it, the clumsier his steps became until they simply stopped. The rest of the dancefloor still writhed around them like an octopus out of the water, a seeming incongruence of awkward grace, which is exactly how Yuuri felt at that moment.

 

Yuuri noticed when Phichit’s eye flicked off somewhere beyond his shoulder; that’s when the Lord of Love broke their kiss with a soft sigh. His friend pulled away as he heard a soft growl that transitioned into a light cough behind him. 

 

“May I have this dance?”

 

At the melodic, soothing voice, he spun around to face Viktor staring down at him, hand out. All his plans for domination fled his mind as the lights gleamed off the taller god’s hair, his eyes, so blue, held his with a softness he hadn’t expected. Yuuri stood there for one moment, not comprehending. Why Viktor was asking him to dance….until he realized Viktor must be asking him to step aside to dance with Phichit, after all it wouldn’t be so strange to want to dance with the cheerful, engaging, dynamic God of Love. And for some reason, Yuuri felt a tightness in his chest at the thought of them dancing; close as lovers, mingling, laughing. 

 

Of course he wasn’t asking Yuuri. He hated Yuuri, wanted to humiliate him, drag him down into submission, wanted to top him. His molars creaked as he felt the heat of embarrassment spreading all over him. And here was Viktor, making him look a fool again.

 

Yuuri blushed out of habit and cast his gaze to the floor as he mumbled, “You should be asking him, not me.”

 

“And if,” Yuuri could hear a soft, tremulous sigh from Viktor as the song died down. “-If I am asking you, would that be….bad?” 

 

Shock trickled down Yuuri’s spine as he locked eyes with Viktor again. He saw a flicker of pain and something else in the God of Perfection’s eyes, his brow pinched. Yuuri noted a tiny wrinkle forming in Viktor’s porcelain brow. How is it that expression could be on Viktor’s face as he was looking at him, the gloomy God of the Underworld that can’t even socialize without getting drunk and seeking out his best friend to dance with, not that anyone else wanted to dance with him. _Except Viktor_ , his gut informed him with a dark twist. There must be a reason for it, and Yuuri wouldn’t accept what his rapidly beating heart was trying to tell him.

_“And here is where we come back to your original question, my young buck: ‘Why does Yuuri not notice Viktor’s obvious lit-up-on-a-billboard-in-Times-Square-affection?’” announced the storyteller. The group perked up, though were confused by his metaphor._

_“My babies, this is a fantastic lesson for how a low opinion of one’s self can catastrophically affect how you interpret other’s interactions with you. You hold no intrinsic value in yourself, so how can you even imagine others ascribing value to you. Moral of the story, each and every one of us is wildly different in values, morals, backgrounds, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. BUT, this is what makes life so exciting! Meeting and understanding each person we touch in tiny ways.” Finished the storyteller._

_“And Yuuri hasn’t learned this lesson yet?” piped up Iokaste, raising his hand eagerly._

_Closing his eyes wearily, the storyteller shook his head slowly. “Not yet.”_

 

Would it be bad? Yuuri covered his mouth unconsciously, like he was afraid to say anything that could be used against him. Viktor had outmaneuvered him again, seen through Yuuri’s challenge to take Phichit back from the God of Spring. And now here he was asking Yuuri to dance. _Ahhh_ , this is Viktor’s response. Yuuri took Phichit away from him and he in turn desires to outdo Yuuri on the dancefloor. This was the language he knew, the call and response of two combatants locked in battle.

 

Viktor, still poised with his left hand extended to Yuuri, his other hand clenched tightly at his side with a slight grimace. “No?”

 

Time to turn the tables on Viktor. Out of the interstitial pause, a long drawn-out [guitar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvW61K2s0tA) note dropped like throwing a stone into a well, waiting for the bottom, as Calliope ramped up for a more upbeat song. Time slowed as Yuuri reached out and grabbed Viktor’s clenched right hand while he pulled Viktor sharply into a figure, Yuuri reached his right arm around to press Viktor’s chest to his. He was leading this challenge, not Viktor. 

 

As the guitar note reached the bottom of the well and bass joined the party, Yuuri took a giant leading step into Viktor’s space and was pleasantly surprised when Viktor followed without hesitation, trusting Yuuri’s forceful moves. Yuuri expected the God of Perfection to be able to keep up with him, but could he respond to more complicated footwork without prompts? Here was his chance of a lifetime to prove his dominance over Spring. 

 

And to his credit, Viktor swayed his hips in exactly the right places, leaned back into a dip exactly when Yuuri planned it, switched grips and allowed Yuuri to turn him perfectly, stepped forward to wrap his leg around Yuuri’s when Yuuri stepped between Viktor’s legs; all without breaking their formation. Then when they would come back together, Viktor slotted perfectly against his body. It almost was like he was reading Yuuri’s mind.

 

When the lyrics proclaimed the importance of not letting the chance of a lifetime pass by because all of this _will_ end, Yuuri knew with certainty that Calliope had sampled his emotional state. His smile grew, softening from the hard edge into joy. If Yuuri thought he was having fun before, it was nothing compared to this. When the song rose into elation, he took Viktor into a large, loping spin, clearing a circle for an exhibition in the middle of the throng of dancers. Not that Yuuri noticed. His attention was focused singularly on the god in his arms. The way Viktor’s hair filtered around his face, catching the colorful lights, fascinated Yuuri and more than once he caught himself staring.

 

This close to Viktor, his personal scent closed around Yuuri, the sweet, tangy intoxication caressing Yuuri like the finest silk brushing his chest, back, neck, arms. Everywhere Yuuri felt illuminated, shining with the sun held in his arms. A study in contrasts, the cool moon partnered with the brilliant sun. If he had the option to look at himself, he would have not recognized the softness of his expression and the blush dusted across his cheeks. 

 

By now their close hold was awakening a hunger, a seduction within him. He thought he had shoved it so far back in his subconscious. But it came roaring back with a vengeance. He became overly aware of their hold, Viktor’s hands in his, Viktor’s heart next to his; was his heart beating so fast due to the exertion of the dance – Yuuri tended to be rather…athletic during his dances. The heat of their dance translated into heat in Yuuri’s groin as they twisted this way and that. And it seemed Viktor mirrored that heat, reflecting it back to Yuuri, intensifying it. He could feel his dick twitching in interest. It started to become too much for Yuuri to handle and his steps began to lack conviction.

 

“U-um,” Viktor faltered with his speech a moment before he cleared his throat, his eyes searching Yuuri for something. Yuuri wasn’t sure what exactly Viktor searched for. “I’m sorry about Yurio’s boon, I-I didn’t expect Sara to be such a good strategist at evasion,” said the God of Perfection as pity flashed across his face. 

 

Viktor’s reminder that he had lost the humiliating hunt and fled back home in terror ripped Yuuri from the seductive cadence of their dance. His mind caught in the dark of the forest where Viktor had crushed his self-esteem, he fumbled his next step, his left foot catching on his right shin as he stepped back, Viktor’s momentum caused him to crash into Yuuri, sending the God of Death tumbling to the ground. A wave of laughter rode across the crowd as Yuuri scrabbled at the floor. The inebriated dancers, their social filters destroyed, guffawed at the blundering Yuuri, their mockery heating up his face.

 

“Ah! Are you okay?” gasped Viktor, catching his breath. His expression switching from pity to concern in one second. He immediately pulled Yuuri upright, quickly checked him for injuries, and breathed a sigh when he found none – he didn’t realize how bruised Yuuri’s pride had become.

 

Yuuri’s face blazed as everyone had watched the fall, watched him falter. It was exactly the opposite of how he’d imagined, hoped this dance would go. 

_“But it sounded like Yuuri’s dance was wonderful! How could he think he did poorly?” gasped Iokaste._

_Staring into the eyes of the young men, the storyteller smiled sadly. “In the heat of the moment, often the very last thing that happens is what stick in your mind. If an entire symphony is played flawlessly except the last note is sour, your experience of that show would stand out in your mind as a waste,” explained the storyteller._

 

Everyone had seen Yuuri mooning over the God of Perfection, lost in him when Yuuri was supposed to be the one leading this challenge. It had taken just a second for Viktor to drag him back into the filth and the mud, for Viktor to remind him that everything he touched went to shit. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and Yuuri blushed furiously as he fought the tide of embarrassment threatening to drag him into its undertow. 

 

The imperative to flee whispered sweet invectives in his ear, reminding him that his place in the pantheon was one of darkness and isolation, where he wouldn’t hurt the glittering sensibilities of gods greater than him. He needed to get away from the brightness and the laughter and the joviality. He needed a quiet corner to lick his wounds, away from judging eyes. He needed to ignore Viktor and his penetrating eyes. Capturing his bottom lip in his teeth, Yuuri mumbled “….‘M fine,” as he plunged into the press of dancers.

 

* * *

 

 

Swiping more Panacea on his way to the back lounge areas, secluded rooms in a warren of tunnels. He downed the Panacea because the first one must not have worked, otherwise why would he act the way he had during their dance? 

 

The cool drink soothed his throat, though it did nothing for his whirling mind as he ducked around a corner. He bit the inside of his cheek, the metallic tang of blood faint on his tongue. How foolish was he to think he could best the God of Perfection. Now he would be the laughing stock of Olympus. Next thing he knew he would be knocked off the elder’s table back down into the realm of the mortals, relegated to scratching a life out as a helpless human until misfortune or old age claimed him. His vision swirled as tears collected on his bottom lid, not fallen, yet not stopping either. He had to calm down. He pressed his shaking hands to his thighs, the sweat beginning to dry, sticky.

 

Rushed Footsteps, muffled by the plush carpet, alerted Yuuri to an intruder in his attempt at solitude. He quickly rubbed his eyes and attempted to calm his expression in the hope that he could fool the passerby. 

 

He wasn’t prepared when Viktor rounded the corner and immediately locked onto Yuuri with an expression Yuuri couldn’t quite identify. Part concern, yet there was hardness in the line of his mouth.

 

For fuck’s sake, wouldn’t Viktor leave him alone in his misery? Did he want to rub this into Yuuri’s face? How _dare_ he intrude on Yuuri while he was furiously trying not to have a total breakdown in the middle of a fucking party. _HE_ was supposed to show Viktor, _not_ the other way around. And by the _stars_ Yuuri was going to rip into the God of Perfection if it was the last thing he did.

_The storyteller paused in his recitation. “Now boys, I ask you to not interrupt this next part as there are a lot of complex emotions that are being conveyed. And if you get a little…..aroused…..try not to make fun of your fellow students. It’s a natural, healthy response to what is about to happen between two consenting individuals.” The storyteller eyed them and would not continue until each young man agreed to zip his fucking lip._

 

Viktor opened his mouth and started to say something that sounded like “Thank the star-” 

 

However, before he could finish Yuuri marched up, grasped the front of Viktor’s delicate robes, pulled the gilded-haired god down to his face to growl, “don’t say another thing,” before he captured Viktor’s lips in a searing kiss. Yuuri swallowed Viktor’s surprised gasp and fully expected the younger god to push him away. Instead, Viktor tangled his hand into the hair at Yuuri’s nape while a moan whined in his throat. 

 

His vision colored silver, Yuuri dove into their kiss with the same intensity he felt on the dancefloor, where he had all of Viktor’s attention focused solely on him and no one else. The velvet of Viktor’s lips slid against the hardness of his own mouth, so driven was Yuuri that his neck corded, every nerve afire. Yuuri felt Viktor weaken his stance and he had to adjust his grip to ensure the God of Perfection stayed right where he wanted him. In that moment, Viktor took the opportunity to flick a tongue out to taste Yuuri’s pearlescent lips and Yuuri moaned at the sensation.

 

His skin tingled as he drove Viktor backward, his steps mimicking their dance, until Viktor hit the wall. Heated hands slipped into the break of his robes, his belt loosened from their dance, tracing deliciously searing lines along his soft abdomen. The sensation made his gut curl as his abdominals clenched, relishing the feeling. Breaking their kiss, Yuuri flicked his gaze up through his lashes, he was arrested at the sight of Viktor, lips moist, rose red, panting.

 

He dove back in for another kiss, opening his lips to take a taste from the god before him, he almost snorted to find that Viktor indeed tasted just as complex as his personal scent, sweet, tangy, with a musk underlying everything – because _of course he did_. 

 

When his tongue slipped out to taste the God of Spring, Viktor’s tongue traced the line of his lips before it intertwined with his own. 

 

Yuuri sighed and Viktor swallowed the sound. The God of Spring nibbled on Yuuri’s lower lip, something suspiciously sounding like ‘delicious’ and ‘amazing’ escaped in between gasps in their mingled breath.

 

Noticing how Viktor loomed over him, Yuuri grabbed the back of Viktor’s neck with a growl and pulled him down so Yuuri was the one filling Viktor’s vision, making Spring slide down the wall a bit, bracing himself. At the new position, Viktor clutched tighter as his hands dipped lower, clasping the firmness of Yuuri’s ass, massaging his muscles until they radiated heat from the touch. 

 

All at once, Yuuri’s mind caught up to his body, his mind shouted that this was a horribly bad idea and he should stop-this-right-now, but his body was overriding that directive. Humiliation fueled his actions, desire spurred him on. Their dance had provoked a hot core within Yuuri, his sexuality long laid dormant, now brought screaming to the forefront. The knowledge of what he was doing was exhilarating. He was in command, eliciting all sorts of breathy gasps from the silver-haired god.

 

He couldn’t best him on the dancefloor, but perhaps….No even as he contemplated trying to best him in the bedroom, he reminded himself of his severe lack of experience in that arena – something Phichit eagerly tried to remedy on multiple occasions. Knowing how bad the idea of using sex as a contest was – no matter how much his dick argued _hard_ for its position – Yuuri wrinkled his nose and shook his head ever so slightly, which made Viktor break their kiss immediately, hands off Yuuri’s body, but still hovering just above his skin, furnace-hot.

 

Deep cerulean eyes, dark with passion, pored into his own muddy brown ones, searching for some answer to which Yuuri didn’t even know the question; they seemed to shine with some deeper emotion that Yuuri couldn’t place. Not quite concern, nor pity, nor hatred, but some hesitation guarded the God of Perfection’s expression. As they both stared at each other, breath coming in hard and rushed, Yuuri noticed a tiny tremble Viktor’s perfectly pearly lips, and godsdammit, they had shimmering flecks _shimmering flecks_ in them, like marble soaking up blood after a battle, stained dusky red. Yuuri couldn’t help but lick his lips thinking about those initial tastes they shared. 

 

Viktor’s eyes dilated and Yuuri’s gaze was drawn to his bobbing throat as he swallowed thickly. “I can’t believe-” Viktor began, but a sharp frown by Yuuri cut his speech as sure as a sewn mouth. 

 

“What, that you’re doing this- this- this _thing_ with me?” sneered Yuuri as he withdrew his hands from Viktor’s chest. _Ahhh_ now it makes sense, Yuuri played him with Phichit, so here’s his revenge; to join in this mutual seduction only to pull out at the last second to laugh at the poor pathetic God of Death who hasn’t even had sex before. Well Yuuri won’t let him get the upper hand here. “Well then I won’t keep you from your…..engagements,” he bowed slightly as he started to turn away.

 

Hastily Viktor chased Yuuri’s lips and captured them in a blistering kiss that stole the breath from Yuuri. “Please, I can’t-…I-I need-” Viktor tapped his forehead against Yuuri’s and sighed. “Just this once, with me?” pleaded the shining God of Perfection.

 

That kiss filled Yuuri’s head, intoxicating him as surely as any of Chris’s wines. Sleeping with Viktor would be a colossal mistake, but the heat curling in his gut convinced him otherwise. Mila was right: we all need to go a bit _mad_ every once in a while. And where better than a party where madness was not only sanctioned, but encouraged even. 

 

So Yuuri offered Viktor his hand with a saucy half smile and a nod of his head.

 

The sun broke along with Viktor’s smile as excitement danced in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHH! The Wonderfully talented arururin did a beautiful commission of Viktor growing "Viktor's Folly" for me! Please check it out [here!!](http://arururin.tumblr.com/post/163852244455/viktor-the-god-of-spring-and-vegetation-first)
> 
> And check please out their [tumblr](http://arururin.tumblr.com/) full of gorgeous artwork!
> 
> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! My fave artist did a commission of Yuuri and Viktor's dance in this chapter!! I love how they translated my robe suggestions into their own personal artistic style! I LOVE IT! [LOOK AT THE PRETTIES](https://crimson-chains.tumblr.com/post/163965680917/commission-done-for-fiorelilyicecastle-d)
> 
> And give [Crimson Chains](https://crimson-chains.tumblr.com/) a huge shout out on their tumblr while you're at it!
> 
> No new additions to the pantheon this time. Well....that's not _entirely_ true, but I'm not naming that character (and they are a YOI character too) yet...though you are welcome to guess! Well and Priapos... His dick, TRUE STORY, look that shit up because I sure did. 
> 
> Also, those sharp-eyed readers will note that Otabek fired once and shot not just two, but three arrows. FROM ONE SHOT. BADASS HUNTER OTABEK TM.
> 
> And yes, four songs is a lot, but hey, it's a sex dance party, what did you expect?
> 
> Fever by Michael Bublé <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkIvRbtw1EU>
> 
> Stop Desire by Tegan and Sara <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLUDxVezNes>
> 
> I Love You by Woodkid <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQu8FOjJXdI>
> 
> The One Moment by OkGo <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvW61K2s0tA>
> 
> Oh, and here's the inspiration for Yuuri's outfit w/ modifications [Oncoming Storm](http://pin.it/6417ZT6)
> 
> And victor's outfit inspiration [Dark Flowers](http://pin.it/cCWJkVS)
> 
> And Phichit's [Crimson Outfit](http://pin.it/XyTvdwP)
> 
> I didn't describe what Chris was wearing, but it was something like this [Wine robes](http://pin.it/Oxo6uMW)

**Author's Note:**

> I know, there's not much happening this first chapter, but this set up is necessary for when the banquet and the rivalry begins. I hope the student comments are not too confusing. It's meant to help clear up some necessary questions in how the AU operates. 
> 
> I've created a whole pantheon for the entire cast of YOI. And, because I'm a Greek Mythology nerd, I'm sticking more closely to the mythology for relationships, so often characters are related when they aren't in the show (I blame it on Zeus for being so damned promiscuous) and really, all of the gods/goddesses are all related in the first place since Cronos started the whole Titan movement and birthing the Olympians. I'm not tagging this incest because the gods didn't really consider it incest, so I'm not, so there. I'm not going to pair up siblings from the show or anything (sorry Mickey)  
> Also, my favorite things I wrote while researching this so far:   
> JJ: • Falls in love with his own reflection. Can’t look away, too pretty. Dies from starvation.
> 
> For those keeping tabs:  
> Yuuri=Hades  
> Viktor=Persephone  
> Mila=Charon  
> Phichit=Eros  
> Chris=Dionysis  
> Celestino=Zeus  
> Vicchan=Cerberus


End file.
